How was it that the woman was ready to accept the altered posture of affairs in his house—­if she had received a hint of them?  He forgot that he had prepared her in self-defence.

“From whom did you have that?” he asked.

“Her father.  And the lady aunts declare it was the cousin she refused!” Willoughby’s brain turned over.  He righted it for action, and crossed the room to the ladies Eleanor and Isabel.  His ears tingled.  He and his whole story discussed in public!  Himself unroofed!  And the marvel that he of all men should be in such a tangle, naked and blown on, condemned to use his cunningest arts to unwind and cover himself, struck him as though the lord of his kind were running the gauntlet of a legion of imps.  He felt their lashes.

The ladies were talking to Mrs. Mountstuart and Lady Culmer of Vernon and the suitableness of Laetitia to a scholar.  He made sign to them, and both rose.

“It is the hour for your drive.  To the cottage!  Mr. Dale is in.  She must come.  Her sick father!  No delay, going or returning.  Bring her here at once.”

“Poor man!” they sighed; and “Willoughby,” said one, and the other said:  “There is a strange misconception you will do well to correct.”

They were about to murmur what it was.  He swept his hand round, and excusing themselves to their guests, obediently they retired.

Lady Busshe at his entreaty remained, and took a seat beside Lady Culmer and Mrs. Mountstuart.

She said to the latter:  “You have tried scholars.  What do you think?”

“Excellent, but hard to mix,” was the reply.

“I never make experiments,” said Lady Culmer.

“Some one must!” Mrs. Mountstuart groaned over her dull dinner-party.

Lady Busshe consoled her.  “At any rate, the loss of a scholar is no loss to the county.”

“They are well enough in towns,” Lady Culmer said.

“And then I am sure you must have them by themselves.”

“We have nothing to regret.”

“My opinion.”

The voice of Dr. Middleton in colloquy with Mr. Dale swelled on a melodious thunder:  “For whom else should I plead as the passionate advocate I proclaimed myself to you, sir?  There is but one man known to me who would move me to back him upon such an adventure.  Willoughby, join me.  I am informing Mr. Dale . . .”

Willoughby stretched his hands out to Mr. Dale to support him on his legs, though he had shown no sign of a wish to rise.

“You are feeling unwell, Mr. Dale.”

“Do I look very ill, Sir Willoughby?”

“It will pass.  Laetitia will be with us in twenty minutes.”  Mr. Dale struck his hands in a clasp.  He looked alarmingly ill, and satisfactorily revealed to his host how he could be made to look so.