"Not but," broke she in, "if you could assure me that the rumors were untrue,--that _you_ have been calumniated, and I misinformed,--if, I say, you were enabled to do this, the tidings would help greatly to sustain me through this season of trouble."

"You must speak more plainly, Georgina, if I am to understand you."

"Are you married, Annesley?" said she, abruptly.

"Yes. I hope I am of an age to enter the holy estate without leave from my relations."

"It is true, then?" said she, with a deep, full voice.

"Perfectly true. And then?" There was an open defiance in this tone of questioning which seemed actually to sting her.

"And then?" repeated she, after him,--"'and then?' You are right to say, 'and then?'--if that means 'What next?'"

Beecher turned pale and red, as fear and passion swayed him alternately; but he never spoke.

"Is it really a marriage?" broke she in again, "or is it some mockery enacted by a degraded priest, and through the collusion of some scheming sharpers. Oh, Annesley! tell me frankly how you have been tricked into this ignominious contract!" And her accents, as she spoke this, assumed a tone of imploring affection that actually moved him. To this a sense of offended dignity quickly succeeded with him, and he said,--

"I cannot permit you to continue in this strain; I am rightfully, legally married, and the lady who shares my lot is as much the Viscountess Lackington as you are."

She covered her face with both her hands, and sat thus for several minutes.

"Perhaps it is all for the best," muttered she, in a low but audible accent,--"perhaps it is all for the best. Loss of rank, station, and name will fall the more lightly on those who so little understood how to maintain them with dignity."

"And if I am threatened with the loss of my title and fortune," cried Beecher, passionately, "is it exactly the time to heap these insults on me?"

Partly from the firmness of his manner as he uttered these words, partly that they were not devoid of truthful meaning, she accepted the reproof almost submissively.

"You must go over to England at once, Beecher," said she, calmly. "You must place yourself immediately in Fordyce's hands, and secure the best advice the Bar affords. I would go with you myself, but that--" The deep flush that spread over Beecher's face as she paused here made the moment one of intense pain to each. "No matter," resumed she; "there is only one danger I would warn you against. You dropped the word 'compromise;'

now, Annesley, let nothing induce you to descend to this. Such a suggestion could only have come from those whose habits of life accept expediency in lieu of principle. Maintain your rights proudly and defiantly so long as they pertain to you; if law should at last declare that we are only usurpers--" She tried to finish, but the words seemed as if they would choke her, and after an effort almost convulsive she burst into tears. Scarcely less moved, Beecher covered his face with his hands and turned away.

"I will do whatever you advise me, Georgina," said he at length, as he seated himself on the sofa at her side. "If you say I ought to go to England, I 'll set off at once."

"Yes; you must be in London; you must be where you can have daily, hourly access to your lawyers; but you must also determine that this contest shall be decided by law, and law alone. I cannot, will not, believe that your rights are invalid. I feel assured that the House of Lords will maintain the cause of an acknowledged member of their order against the claims of an obscure pretender. This sympathy, however, will only be with you so long as you are true to yourself. Let the word 'compromise' be but uttered, and the generous sentiment will be withdrawn; therefore, Annesley,"--here she dropped her voice, and spoke more impressively,--"therefore, I should say, go over to England _alone_; be free to exercise untrammelled your own calm judgment,--keep your residence a secret from all save your law advisers,--see none else."

"You mean, then, that I should go without my wife?"

"Yes!" said she, coldly; "if she accompany you, her friends, her father, with whom she will of course correspond, will know of your whereabouts, and flock round you with their unsafe counsels; this is most to be avoided."

"But how is it to be managed, Georgina; she cannot surely stop here, at an hotel too, while I am away in England?"

"I can see nothing against such an arrangement; not having had the pleasure of seeing and knowing Lady Lack-ington, I am unable to guess any valid reasons against this plan. Is she young?"

"Not twenty."

"Handsome, of course?" said she, with a slight but supercilious curl of the lip.

"Very handsome,--beautiful," answered he, but in a voice that denoted no rapture.

Lady Lackington mused for a moment or two; it seemed as if she were discussing within her own mind a problem, stating and answering objections as they arose, for she muttered such broken words as, "Dangerous, of course--in Rome especially--but impossible for her to go to England--all her relations--anything better than that--must make the best of it;" then turning to Beecher with an air of one whose determination was taken, she said: "She must stay with me till you return." Before he had rallied from his surprise at this resolution, she added, "Come over to tea this evening, and let me see her."

Beecher pressed her hand cordially, as though to imply a gratitude above words; but in reality he turned away to conceal all the emotions this new position of difficulty occasioned, merely calling out, "We 'll come very early," as he departed.

Lizzy heard that Spicer was to be their guest at dinner, and they themselves to take tea with the Viscountess. Lackington, with equal indifference. She had scarcely _seen_ Mr. Spicer, and was not over-pleased with her brief impression; of her Ladyship she had only _heard_, but even that much had not inspired her to anticipate a pleasant meeting.

There was, however, in her husband's manner, a sort of fidgety anxiety that showed he attached to the coming interview an amount of importance she could by no means understand. He continued to throw out such hints as to "Georgina's notions" on this or that point; and, while affecting a half ridicule, really showed how seriously he regarded them. Even to Lizzy's dress his cares extended; and he told her to be mindful that nothing in her costume should attract special criticism or remark.

Beecher was far more uneasy than even his looks betrayed. He dreaded to dwell upon the haughty demeanor his sister-in-law would so certainly assume, and the sort of inspection to which his wife was to be subjected. In his heart he wished that Lizzy had been less beautiful, less attractive, or, as he ungraciously styled it to himself, "less showy." He well knew how damaging would all her brilliant qualities become to the eyes of one herself a belle and a beauty in times past. He discussed over and over with himself whether it might not be better to acquaint Lizzy of the kind of dress parade that awaited her, or leave wholly to chance the events of the interview. For once in his life he took a wise resolve, and said nothing on the matter.

The dinner passed off somewhat heavily,--Beecher silent and preoccupied, Lizzy thoughtful and indisposed to converse, and Spicer vexed, in spite of all his resolutions to the contrary, by what he had insultingly called to himself "the airs of Grog Davis's daughter;" and yet nothing could be less just than to stigmatize by such a phrase a manner quiet, calm, and unpretentious, and totally removed from all affectation.

For a while Beecher bestowed a watchful attention on Spicer, uneasy lest by some adroit piece of malice he might either irritate Lizzy or lead her covertly into some imprudent disclosures; but he soon saw that it would have required a hardier spirit than Mr. Spicer's to have adventured on impertinence in that quarter, and, lighting his cigar, he sat moodily down by the window to think on the future.

Left with the field thus open, Spicer canvassed within himself how best to profit by the opportunity. Should he declare himself an old friend of her father's,--his associate and his colleague? Should he dexterously intimate that, knowing all about her family and antecedents, she could not do better than secure his friendship? Should he not also slyly suggest that, married to a man like Beecher, the counsels of one prudent and wily as himself would prove invaluable? "Now or never," thought he, as he surveyed her pale features, and interpreted their expression as implying timidity and fear.

"Your first visit to Rome, I believe?" said he, as he searched for a cigar amidst the heap on the table.

A cold assent followed.

"Wonderful place; not merely for its old monuments and ruins, though they are curious too, but its strange society,--all nations and all ranks of each mixed and mingled together: great swells and snobs, grand ladies, princes, cardinals and ambassadors, thrown together with artistes, gamblers, and fast ones of either sex,--a regular fair of fine company, with, plenty of amusement and lots of adventure."

"Indeed!" said she, languidly.

"Just the place your father would like," said he, dropping his voice to a half-whisper.

"In what way, pray?" asked she, quietly.

"Why, in the way of trade, of course," said he, laughing. "For the fine-lady part of the matter he 'd not care for it,--that never was his line of country,--but for the young swells that thought themselves sporting characters, for the soft young gents that fancied they could play, Grog was always ready. I ask your pardon for the familiar nickname, but we 've known each other about thirty years. He always called me Ginger. Haven't you heard him speak of old Ginger?"

"Never, sir."

"Strange that; but perhaps he did not speak of his pals to you?"

"No, never."

"That was so like him. I never saw his equal to hunt over two different kinds of country. He could get on the top of a bus and go down to St.

John's Wood, or to Putney, after a whole night at Crawley's, and with an old shooting-jacket and Jim-crow on him, and a garden-rake in his hand, you 'd never suspect he was the fellow who had cleared out the company and carried off every shilling at billiards and blind-hookey. Poor old Kit, how fond I am of him!"

A stare, whose meaning Spicer could not fathom, was the only reply to the speech.

"And he was so fond of _me!_ I was the only one of them all he could trust. He liked Beech--I mean his Lordship there; he was always attached to him, but whenever it was really a touch-and-go thing, a nice operation, then he'd say, 'Where's Ginger? give me Ginger!' The adventures we've had together would make a book; and do you know that more than once I thought of writing them, or getting a fellow to write them, for it's all the same. I'd have called it 'Grog and Ginger.'

Wouldn't that take?"

She made no reply; her face was, perhaps, a thought paler, but unchanged in expression.

"And then the scenes we've gone through!--dangerous enough some of them; he rather liked that, and _I_ own it never was my taste."

"I am surprised to hear you say so, sir," said she, in a low but very distinct voice; "I'd have imagined exactly the reverse."