“Where is Pelham?” demanded Mrs Maulfrey.

“We are not quite certain,” answered Elizabeth. “We think perhaps in Rome now. Poor Pel is but an indifferent correspondent. But I feel sure we shall hear from him quite soon.”

“Well, he will have to come home for your wedding, I suppose,” said Mrs Maulfrey. “But, Lizzie, you must tell me! Has Rule paid his addresses? I had not the least idea of anything of the kind, though, naturally, I had heard that it was in a way arranged. But he has been so very—” She apparently thought better of what she had been about to say, and broke off. “But that’s neither here nor there, and I daresay he will be a charming husband. Have you given him your answer, Lizzie?”

“Not yet,” said Elizabeth almost inaudibly. “I—I too had no notion of it, Theresa. I have met him, of course. He stood up with me for the first two dances at the subscription-ball at Almack’s, when Pelham was at home. He was—he has always been—all that is amiable, but that he intended offering for my hand I never dreamed. He waited on Mama yesterday only to—to solicit her permission to pay his addresses to me. There is nothing announced yet, you must understand.”

“Everything of the most correct!” approved Mrs Maulfrey. “Oh, my love, I cannot help it if you say I have no sensibility, but only conceive of having Rule paying his addresses to one! I declare I would give my eyes—or, I would have,” she corrected herself, “had I not married Mr Maulfrey. And so,” she added, “would every other young lady in town! Why, my dears, you would not believe the caps that have been set at him!”

“Theresa, I must, I must request you not to talk in that odious way!” said Charlotte.

Horatia was looking at her cousin with interest. “Why do you say “only c-conceive of Rule paying his addresses to one”? I thought he was quite old.”

“Old?” said Mrs Maulfrey. “Rule? Nothing of the sort, my dear! Not a day above thirty-five, I’ll stake my reputation. And what a leg! What an air! The most engaging smile!”

“I c-call that old,” said Horatia calmly. “Edward is only t-twenty-two.”

There did not seem to be much to say after that. Mrs Maulfrey, perceiving that she had culled all the news that her cousins could at this present impart, began to think of taking her leave of them. Though sorry for Elizabeth’s evident distress at the magnificent prospect ahead of her, she could not in the least understand it, and considered that the sooner Lieutenant Heron was posted back to his regiment the better it would be. Therefore, when the door opened to admit a spare female of uncertain age, who informed Elizabeth with a flutter in her voice that Mr Heron was below and begged the favour of a word with her, she pursed her lips, and looked as disapproving as she could.

Elizabeth’s colour fluctuated, but she rose up from the sopha, and said quietly: “Thank you, Laney.”

Miss Lane seemed to share a little of Mrs Maulfrey’s disapproval. She regarded Elizabeth in a deprecating way, and suggested: “My dear Miss Winwood, do you think you should? Do you think your Mama would like it?”

Elizabeth replied with her gentle air of dignity: “I have Mama’s permission, dear Laney, to—to tell Mr Heron of the approaching change in my estate. Theresa, you won’t, I know, speak of Lord Rule’s obliging offer until—until it is formally announced.”

“Too noble creature!” Charlotte sighed, as the door closed softly behind Miss Winwood. “How very lowering it is to reflect upon the trials that afflict the Female Sex!”

“Edward is afflicted too,” said Horatia practically. Her penetrating eyes rested on her cousin. “Theresa, if you ch-chatter about this you will be sorry. Something must be d-done.”

“What can be done, when our sweetest Lizzie goes a Willing Sacrifice to the Altar?” said Charlotte in a hollow voice.

“Trials! Sacrifice!” exclaimed Mrs Maulfrey. “Lord, one would think Rule an ogre to listen to you! You put me out of all patience, Charlotte. A house in Grosvenor Square, and Meering, which I am told is quite superb, the park seven miles about, and three lodge-gates!”

It will be a great position,” said the little governess in her breathless way. “But who should fill it better than dear Miss Winwood? One has always felt that she was destined for a high place.”

“Pho!” said Horatia scornfully, and snapped her fingers. “That for Rule’s great p-position!”

“Miss Horatia, I beg of you, not that ungenteel gesture!”

Charlotte came to the support of her sister. “You should not snap your fingers, Horry, but you are quite in the right. Lord Rule does very well for himself in getting a Winwood for his bride.”

Meanwhile Miss Winwood, pausing only for a moment on the staircase to calm the agitation which the news of Mr Heron’s arrival had induced, went down to the library on the ground floor of the house.

Here there awaited her a young man in a state of greater agitation than her own.

Mr Edward Heron, of the 10th Foot, at present in America, was stationed in England on Recruiting Service. He had been wounded at the Battle of Bunker’s Hill, and sent home shortly afterwards, his wound being of a serious enough nature to preclude his taking further part—for a time at least—in the hostilities abroad. Upon his recovery he was gazetted, greatly to his chagrin, for Home Service.

The acquaintance between himself and Miss Winwood was of long standing. The younger son of a country gentleman whose estates marched with Viscount Winwood’s, he had known the Misses Winwood almost from the hour of his birth. He was of excellent if impoverished family, and had he been the possessor of a rather large fortune might have been deemed an eligible though not brilliant match for Elizabeth.

When Miss Winwood entered the library he arose from a seat by the window, and came towards her with an anxious look of inquiry upon his countenance. He was a personable young man, and looked very well in his scarlet regimentals. He had height, and good shoulders, and a frank, open countenance, rather pale still from prolonged suffering. He carried his left arm a little stiffly, but declared himself to be in perfect health, and very ready to rejoin his regiment.

A glance at Miss Winwood’s face informed him that the anxiety occasioned by her brief note had not been misplaced. Taking her hands in a strong clasp he said urgently: “What has occurred? Elizabeth! Something terrible?”

Her lips quivered. She drew her hands away, and put one of them out to grasp a chair-back. “Oh, Edward, the worst!” she whispered.

He grew paler. “Your note alarmed me. Good God, what is it?”

Miss Winwood pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. “Lord Rule was with Mama yesterday—in this very room.” She raised her eyes imploringly to his face. “Edward, it is all at an end. Lord Rule has offered for my hand.”

A dreadful stillness fell in the shadowed room. Miss Winwood stood with bowed head before Mr Heron, leaning a little on the chair-back.

Mr Heron did not move, but presently he said rather hoarsely: “And you said—?” But it was hardly a question; he spoke it mechanically, knowing what she must have said.

She made a hopeless gesture—“What can I say? You know so well how it is with us.”

He took a step away from her, and began to pace up and down the room. “Rule!” he said. “Is he very rich?”

“Very rich,” replied Elizabeth desolately.

Words crowded in Mr Heron’s throat, hurt, angry, passionate words, yet not one of them could he utter. Life had dealt him her cruellest blow, and all that he could find to say, and that in a numb voice which did not seem to belong to him, was: “I see.” He perceived that Elizabeth was silently weeping, and at once came to her, and took her hands, and drew her to a couch. “Oh, my love, don’t cry!” he said, a catch in his own voice. “Perhaps it is not too late: we can contrive something—we must contrive something!” But he spoke without conviction, for he knew that he would never have anything to set against Rule’s fortune. He put his arms round Elizabeth, and laid his cheek against her curls while her tears fell on his gay scarlet coat.

After a little while she drew herself away. “I am making you unhappy too,” she said.

At that he went down on his knee beside her, and hid his face in her hands. She did not make any effort to pull them away, but said only: “Mama has been so kind. I am permitted to tell you myself. It is—it must be goodbye, Edward. I have not the strength to continue seeing you. Oh, is it wrong of me to say that I shall have you in my heart always—always?”

“I cannot let you go!” he said with suppressed violence. “All our hopes—our plans—Elizabeth, Elizabeth!”

She did not speak, and presently he raised his face, flushed now and haggard. “What can I do? Is there nothing?”

She touched the couch beside her. “Do you think I have not tried to think of something?” she said sadly. “Alas, did we not feel always that ours was nothing but a dream, impossible to realize?”

He sat down again, leaning his arm on his knee, and looking down at his own neat boot. “It’s your brother,” he said. “Debts.”

She nodded. “Mama told me so much that I did not know. It is worse than I imagined. Everything is mortgaged, and there are Charlotte and Horatia to think for. Pelham has lost five thousand guineas at a sitting in Paris.”

“Does Pelham never win?” demanded Mr Heron despairingly.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “He says he is very unlucky.”

He looked up. “Elizabeth, if it hurts you I am sorry, but that you should be sacrificed to Pelham’s selfish, thoughtless—”

“Oh, hush!” she begged. “You know the Fatal Tendency in us Winwoods. Pelham cannot help it. My father even! When Pelham came into his inheritance he found it already wasted. Mama explained it all to me. She is so very sorry, Edward. We have mingled our tears. But she thinks, and how can I not feel the truth of it, that it is my Duty to the Family to accept of Lord Rule’s offer.”