As he lay in bed, knowing that an hour remained to him before he need encounter the perils of his tub, he felt that he hated Courcy Castle and its inmates.  Who was there, among them all, that was comparable to Mrs Dale and her daughters?  He detested both George and John.  He loathed the earl.  As to the countess herself, he was perfectly indifferent, regarding her as a woman whom it was well to know, but as one only to be known as the mistress of Courcy Castle and a house in London.  As to the daughters, he had ridiculed them all from time to time—­even Alexandrina, whom he now professed to love.  Perhaps in some sort of way he had a weak fondness for her;—­but it was a fondness that had never touched his heart.  He could measure the whole thing at its worth,—­Courcy Castle with its privileges, Lady Dumbello, Lady Clandidlem, and the whole of it.  He knew that he had been happier on that lawn at Allington, and more contented with himself, than ever he had been even under Lady Hartletop’s splendid roof in Shropshire.  Lady Dumbello was satisfied with these things, even in the inmost recesses of her soul; but he was not a male Lady Dumbello.  He knew that there was something better, and that that something was within his reach.

But, nevertheless, the air of Courcy was too much for him.  In arguing the matter with himself he regarded himself as one infected with a leprosy from which there could be no recovery, and who should, therefore, make his whole life suitable to the circumstances of that leprosy.  It was of no use for him to tell himself that the Small House at Allington was better than Courcy Castle.  Satan knew that heaven was better than hell; but he felt himself to be fitter for the latter place.  Crosbie ridiculed Lady Dumbello, even there among her friends, with all the cutting words that his wit could find; but, nevertheless, the privilege of staying in the same house with her was dear to him.  It was the line of life into which he had fallen, and he confessed inwardly that the struggle to extricate himself would be too much for him.  All that had troubled him while he was yet at Allington, but it overwhelmed him almost with dismay beneath the hangings of Courcy Castle.

Had he not better run from the place at once?  He had almost acknowledged to himself that he repented his engagement with Lilian Dale, but he still was resolved that he would fulfil it.  He was bound in honour to marry “that little girl,” and he looked sternly up at the drapery over his head, as he assured himself that he was a man of honour.  Yes; he would sacrifice himself.  As he had been induced to pledge his word, he would not go back from it.  He was too much of a man for that!