"Good-night, pet."

Before she could avoid the embrace, he had taken her in his arms, and kissed her, sending the blood flushing to her temples as she ran out and upstairs, fighting hard to keep back the sobs which struggled for utterance.

As she reached her own room she ran to the washstand to bathe her lips and burning cheeks, seeking to get rid of the foul odour of tobacco and spirits which seemed to cling to them. Then she flung herself upon her knees by her bedside, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing wildly for the sweet illusions of her life, in which a brave, frank young hero from the West had stood out so prominently, seemed to be fading away slowly, one by one.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

LATE FOR DINNER.

"Ah, Mrs Denton! What have we here?"

It was Mr Hampton who asked the question as he returned one afternoon from town, to find a van in the yard at The Mynns, and some workmen about to leave.

"The men brought down a billiard-table, sir, and have been putting it up in the west room."

"Oh!"

The old lawyer hung up his hat and coat, and then turned to find the old lady looking at him very piteously.

"Well, Mrs Denton, what is it?"

"Nothing, sir, nothing," said the old lady; and she sighed as she smothered down her feelings and went away.

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the lawyer. "Don't like it, poor old soul."

He went into the drawing-room, where he found Gertrude seated with his wife.

"Ah, my dear, I was afraid I was late. Not dressed for dinner?"

"No, Mr Hampton; George wished it to be an hour later."

"Oh! Lawrence is coming, is he not?"

"Yes; and George said he should bring back Mr Saul Harrington. I think I'll go now and dress."

She smiled at him as he took and patted her little hand, and he followed her to the door before returning to where Mrs Hampton was seated bolt upright.

"Well?" he said.

"Well?"

"My lord out, then?"

"Yes; gone to some races or something with that beautiful Saul Harrington. He'll make ducks and drakes of all this money."

"He has a perfect right to it, my dear. It is his own."

"Now, Phineas, don't talk in that cold-blooded way. I am getting terribly uncomfortable."

"My dear wife, I have already grown terribly uncomfortable, and I want to get back home."

"He's going on shockingly, Phineas. Drinks heavily, and Saul encourages him. Don't you think we ought to do something?"

"No. Impossible."

"About him, perhaps; but about dear Gertrude."

"What can we do?"

"Get her away from here. I am so sick of it. It's terrible the way he goes on. Really, I think sometimes the old man would have done better to have left his money to Saul."

"Oh, hang it, no, my dear. We're in for it, though. Can't we go home?"

"Decidedly not--without Gertrude."

"But she isn't our child."

"Now, if you are going to talk rubbish, Phineas, I've done. I know she is not our child, but is that any reason why we should shut our bowels of compa.s.sion against her?"

"No, my dear."

"I like the girl very much, and so do you, and we're going to do our duty."

"Of course, my dear."

"Then we must get her away to our place."

"Delighted to have her."

"She must not stay here--that's certain; and if we get her away, perhaps she'll escape this odious engagement."

"To a young man with a large fortune."

"Don't talk rubbish, Phineas! What's the good of a large fortune to a tipsy man? He'll pour it all down the sink."

"Humph! His own."

"And break her heart in a year."

"Poor child!"

"I know. Why, he's bordering on delirium tremens now."

"My dear Rachel, how can you know anything about DT?"

"Do you think I'm a fool, Phineas?"