Lord Ballindine was, however, confounded.  When the earl spoke of “a circumstance so likely to be widely discussed”, Mat Tierney’s conversation recurred to him, and Lord Kilcullen’s public declaration that Fanny Wyndham’s match was off.—­It was certainly odd for Lord Cashel to call this an occurrence in Miss Wyndham’s family, but then, he had a round-about way of saying everything.

“I say,” continued the earl, after a short pause, “that I cannot but be surprised that an event of so much importance, of so painful a nature, and, doubtless, already so publicly known, should not before this have reached the ears of one to whom, I presume, Miss Wyndham’s name was not always wholly indifferent.  But, as you have not heard it, my lord, I will communicate it to you,” and again he paused, as though expecting another assurance of Lord Ballindine’s ignorance.

“Why, my lord,” said Frank, “I did hear a rumour, which surprised me very much, but I could not suppose it to be true.  To tell the truth, it was very much in consequence of what I heard that I came to Grey Abbey to-day.”

It was now Lord Cashel’s turn to be confounded.  First, to deny that he had heard anything about it—­and then immediately to own that he had heard it, and had been induced to renew his visits to Grey Abbey in consequence!  Just what he, in his wisdom, had suspected was the case.  But how could Lord Ballindine have the face to own it?

I must, however, tell the reader the event of which Frank was ignorant, and which, it appears, Lord Cashel is determined not to communicate to him.

Fanny Wyndham’s father had held a governorship, or some golden appointment in the golden days of India, and consequently had died rich.  He left eighty thousand pounds to his son, who was younger than Fanny, and twenty to his daughter.  His son had lately been put into the Guards, but he was not long spared to enjoy his sword and his uniform.  He died, and his death had put his sister in possession of his money; and Lord Cashel thought that, though Frank might slight twenty thousand pounds, he would be too glad to be allowed to remain the accepted admirer of a hundred thousand.

“I thought you must have heard it, my lord,” resumed the senior, as soon as he had collected his shreds of dignity, which Frank’s open avowal had somewhat scattered, “I felt certain you must have heard it, and you will, I am sure, perceive that this is no time for you—­excuse me if I use a word which may appear harsh—­it is no time for any one, not intimately connected with Miss Wyndham by ties of family, to intrude upon her sorrow.”

Frank was completely bothered.  He thought that if she were so sorrowful, if she grieved so deeply at the match being broken off, that was just the reason why he should see her.  After all, it was rather flattering to himself to hear of her sorrows; dear Fanny! was she so grieved that she was forced to part from him?