But together with all this came upon him his moments of ineffable tenderness.  He felt as though he longed to take her in his arms and tell her, that if she were unhappy, so would he be unhappy too,—­to make her understand that a hard necessity had made his sorrow common to them both.  He thought that, if she would only allow it, he could speak of her love as a calamity which had befallen them, as from the hand of fate, and not as a fault.  If he could make a partnership in misery with her, so that each might believe that each was acting for the best, then he could endure all that might come.  But, as he was well aware, she regarded him as being simply cruel to her.  She did not understand that he was performing an imperative duty.  She had set her heart upon a certain object, and having taught herself that in that way happiness might be reached, had no conception that there should be something in the world, some idea of personal dignity, more valuable to her than the fruition of her own desires!  And yet every word he spoke to her was affectionate.  He knew that she was bruised, and if it might be possible he would pour oil into her wounds,—­even though she would not recognise the hand which relieved her.

They slept one night in town—­where they encountered Silverbridge soon after his retreat from the Beargarden.  ’I cannot quite make up my mind, sir, about that fellow Tifto,’ he said to his father.

’I hope you have made up your mind that he is not fit companion for yourself.’

‘That’s over.  Everybody understands that, sir.’

‘Is anything more necessary?’

’I don’t like feeling that he has been ill-used.  They have made him resign the club, and I fancy they won’t have him at the hunt.’

‘He has lost no money by you!’

‘Oh no.’

’Then I think you may be indifferent.  From all that I hear I think he must have won money,—­which will probably be a consolation to him.’

‘I think they have been hard upon him,’ continued Silverbridge.  ’Of course he is not a good man, nor a gentleman, nor possessed of very high feelings.  But a man is not to be sacrificed altogether for that.  There are so many men who are not gentlemen, and so many gentlemen who are bad fellows.’

‘I have no doubt Mr Lupton knew what he was about,’ replied the Duke.

On the next morning the Duke and Lady Mary went down to Matching, and as they sat together in the carriage after leaving the railway the father endeavoured to make himself pleasant to his daughter.  ‘I suppose we shall stay at Matching till Christmas,’ he said.

‘I hope so.’

‘Whom would you like to have here?’

‘I don’t want anyone, papa.’

‘You will be very sad without somebody.  Would you like the Finns?’

’If you please, papa.  I like her.  He never talks anything but politics.’

’He is none the worse for that, Mary.  I wonder whether Lady Mabel Grex would come.’