Sir Austin and Lady Blandish knew well that any comment would introduce them to the interior of his machinery, the eternal view of which was sufficiently harrowing; so they maintained a discreet reserve.  Taking it for acquiescence in his deplorable condition, Hippies resumed despairingly:  “It’s a fact.  I’ve brought you to see that.  No one can be more moderate than I am, and yet I get worse.  My system is organically sound—­I believe:  I do every possible thing, and yet I get worse.  Nature never forgives!  I’ll go to bed.”

The Dyspepsy departed unconsoled.

Sir Austin took up his brother’s thought:  “I suppose nothing short of a miracle helps us when we have offended her.”

“Nothing short of a quack satisfies us,” said Adrian, applying wax to an envelope of official dimensions.

Ripton sat accusing his soul of cowardice while they talked; haunted by Lucy’s last look at him.  He got up his courage presently and went round to Adrian, who, after a few whispered words, deliberately rose and accompanied him out of the room, shrugging.  When they had gone, Lady Blandish said to the baronet:  “He is not coming.”

“To-morrow, then, if not tonight,” he replied.  “But I say he will come to-night.”

“You do really wish to see him united to his wife?”

The question made the baronet raise his brows with some displeasure.

“Can you ask me?”

“I mean,” said, the ungenerous woman, “your System will require no further sacrifices from either of them?”

When he did answer, it was to say:  “I think her altogether a superior person.  I confess I should scarcely have hoped to find one like her.”

“Admit that your science does not accomplish everything.”

“No:  it was presumptuous—­beyond a certain point,” said the baronet, meaning deep things.

Lady Blandish eyed him.  “Ah me!” she sighed, “if we would always be true to our own wisdom!”

“You are very singular to-night, Emmeline.”  Sir Austin stopped his walk in front of her.

In truth, was she not unjust?  Here was an offending son freely forgiven.  Here was a young woman of humble birth, freely accepted into his family and permitted to stand upon her qualities.  Who would have done more—­or as much?  This lady, for instance, had the case been hers, would have fought it.  All the people of position that he was acquainted with would have fought it, and that without feeling it so peculiarly.  But while the baronet thought this, he did not think of the exceptional education his son had received.  He, took the common ground of fathers, forgetting his System when it was absolutely on trial.  False to his son it could not be said that he had been false to his System he was.  Others saw it plainly, but he had to learn his lesson by and by.

Lady Blandish gave him her face; then stretched her hand to the table, saying, “Well! well!” She fingered a half-opened parcel lying there, and drew forth a little book she recognized.  “Ha! what is this?” she said.