“He will not come to me in our new home,” he had said to his love, with some little touch of affection.  But to this view of the case Lady Alexandrina had demurred.  The ogre in question was not only her parent, but was also a noble peer, and she could not agree to any arrangement by which their future connection with the earl, and with nobility in general, might be endangered.  Her parent, doubtless, was an ogre, and in his ogreship could make himself very terrible to those near him; but then might it not be better for them to be near to an earl who was an ogre, than not to be near to any earl at all?  She had therefore signified to Crosbie that the ogre must be endured.

But, nevertheless, it was a great thing to be rid of him on that happy occasion.  He would have said very dreadful things,—­things so dreadful that there might have been a question whether the bridegroom could have borne them.  Since he had heard of Crosbie’s accident at the railway station, he had constantly talked with fiendish glee of the beating which had been administered to his son-in-law.  Lady de Courcy in taking Crosbie’s part, and maintaining that the match was fitting for her daughter, had ventured to declare before her husband that Crosbie was a man of fashion, and the earl would now ask, with a loathsome grin, whether the bridegroom’s fashion had been improved by his little adventure at Paddington.  Crosbie, to whom all this was not repeated, would have preferred a wedding in the country.  But the countess and Lady Alexandrina knew better.

The earl had strictly interdicted any expenditure, and the countess had of necessity construed this as forbidding any unnecessary expense.  “To marry a girl without any immediate cost was a thing which nobody could understand,” as the countess remarked to her eldest daughter.

“I would really spend as little as possible,” Lady Amelia had answered.  “You see, mamma, there are circumstances about it which one doesn’t wish to have talked about just at present.  There’s the story of that girl,—­and then that fracas at the station.  I really think it ought to be as quiet as possible.”  The good sense of Lady Amelia was not to be disputed, as her mother acknowledged.  But then if the marriage were managed in any notoriously quiet way, the very notoriety of that quiet would be as dangerous as an attempt at loud glory.  “But it won’t cost as much,” said Amelia.  And thus it had been resolved that the wedding should be very quiet.

To this Crosbie had assented very willingly, though he had not relished the manner in which the countess had explained to him her views.

“I need not tell you, Adolphus,” she had said, “how thoroughly satisfied I am with this marriage.  My dear girl feels that she can be happy as your wife, and what more can I want?  I declared to her and to Amelia that I was not ambitious, for their sakes, and have allowed them both to please themselves.”

“I hope they have pleased themselves,” said Crosbie.