Eaton clapped his hands upon the arms of his chair, half raised himself, and then threw himself back, and began beating the cane-work with his fingers, frowning with vexation.

"There, you see what a lot of practice it takes to make a good impostor," said Mrs Otway.

"What do you mean?"

"How bad your arm seems!"

"Pish!" exclaimed the young man, beginning to nurse it, then ceasing with a gesture of contempt, and looking helplessly at his visitor. "The pain's not there," he said dolefully.

"Poor boy! What a fuss about a pretty face! There, I'm half ready to forgive you. It was very tempting."

"And I've been so happy: I have indeed."

"What, with those two men?"

"Pish!--nonsense! It's dreadful that those two sweet ladies should be placed as they are."

"Amen to that!"

"Mrs Hallam is the sweetest, tenderest-hearted woman I ever met."

"Indeed."

"No mother could have been more gentle and loving to me."

"Except Lady Eaton," said Mrs Otway dryly.

"Oh! my mother, of course; but then she was not here to nurse me."

"I'd have nursed you, Phil, if you had been brought into quarters."

"Oh, I know that!" cried Eaton warmly; "but, you see, I was brought on here."

"Where mamma is so tender to you, and mademoiselle sits gazing at you with her soft, dark eyes, thinking what a brave hero you are, how terribly ill, and falling head-over-ears more in love with you. Phil, Phil, it isn't honest."

"What isn't honest?" he said fiercely. "No man could have resisted such a temptation."

"What, to come here and break a gentle girl's heart?"

"But I'm not breaking her heart," said Eaton ruefully.

"I've written and told your mother how things stand."

"You have?"

"Yes; and that you have taken the bit in your teeth, and that I can't hold you in."

"Well, it doesn't matter," said Eaton gloomily. "I don't want to hurt my dear mother's feelings; but when she knows Julia and Mrs Hallam--"

"And the convict father and his friend."

"For Heaven's sake don't!" cried Eaton, striking the chair and wincing hard, for he hurt his injured shoulder.

"I must, my dear boy. Marriage is a terrible fact, and you must look at it on all sides."

"I mean to get them both away from here," said Eaton firmly. "Their present life is horrible."

"Yes; it is, my boy."

"My gorge rises every time I hear that drinking scoundrel of a father speak to Julia, and that other ruffian come and fetch her away."

"Not a very nice way of speaking about the father of your intended,"

said Mrs Otway dryly--"about your host."

"No, and I would not speak so if I did not see so much. The man has served part of his time for his old crime, of which he swears he was innocent, and I'd forget all the past if I saw he was trying to do the right thing."

"And he is not?"

"He's lost," said Eaton bitterly. "The greatest blessing which could happen to this house would be for him to be thrown back into the gang.

He'd live a few years then, and so would his wife. As it is he is killing both. As for poor Julia--ah! I should be less than man, loving her as I do, if I did not determine to throw all thoughts of caste aside and marry her, and get her away as soon as I can."

"I wish she were not so nice," said Mrs Otway thoughtfully.

"Why?"

"Because, like the silly, stupid woman I am, I can't help sympathising with you both."

"I knew you did in your heart," cried Eaton joyfully.

"Gently, gently, my dear boy," continued Mrs Otway. "I may sympathise with the enemy, but I have to fight him all the same. Have you spoken to the young lady--definitely offered marriage?"

"No, not yet."

"But you've taught her to love you?"

"I don't know--yet--"

"Judging from appearances, Phil, I'm ready to say I do know. What about mamma?"

"Ah! there I feel quite satisfied."

"What, have you spoken to her?"

"No, but she sits and talks to me, and I talk to her."

"About Julia?"

"Yes; and it seems as if she can read my heart through and through.