with her son afterwards, 'what could induce you to come prominently forward and speak to Sir William Thwaite to-day? You were not so intimate with him as to warrant that. It would have been no credit to you if you had been friends, but I believe you were on little more than speaking terms. This was such a conspicuous, unnecessary step on your part, my dear boy, and it looked-it really looked as if you were lending your countenance to a disgraceful proceeding which has grieved your father and me very much. It was affording a bad example on your part also, Ludovic.'

'My dear mother!'-Ludovic took the reprimand with perfect good-humour-' I could not cut the fellow as I saw other people do, because he was going to marry any woman in the world he chose to marry. But before you allow your serenity to be disturbed remember I have no countenance to lend. I am a poor beggar of a naval lieutenant, a complete nobody, except in your partial estimation. And as to a bad example, I hope

I

may never supply a worse. I must say, if the governor has no more evil deed than this' to cut him up, he is uncommonly well off

which, I am willing to add in the most filial spirit, he deserves to be. King Cophetua may still marry the beggar-maid, I hope.'

Iris looked round at Ludovic Acton with eager pleasure, and she was so soft and kind to him for the next few days, that if ever there were danger of friendship passing into love this was the time.

Sir William Thwaite and Honor Smith were married, without more trouble, or without any demonstration of public dissatisfaction, on the day they had fixed. They went no marriage tour, but repaired to Whitehills, which was likely to afford them as entire retirement as they could desire or hope to procure elsewhere.

Iris Compton returned to Lambford about the same time. For some weeks her grandmother shunned her systematically, but, beyond the fact of the shunning, the only sign of Lady Fermor's displeasure was the angry light in her eyes and the snarling abruptness of her tones, when she was forced to speak to Iris. As the inevitable intercourse of daily life gradually relaxed Lady Fermor's avoidance of her grand-daughter, the old lady began to let out more of her feelings. But as yet it was no worse than the first scratches inflicted by

the envenomed talons, and Iris had known so little of the soft pats of the velvet paws which frequently precede such attacks, that she could bear them without outcry, only with a little inward moan.

CHAPTER XXII.

A RUDE IDYL.

By the time the names had been read for the third time, and the marriage of Sir William Thwaite celebrated, September and St. Partridge's day had arrived, which proved a boon to the newly-married couple, and a reprieve from that repenting at leisure which is apt to follow marrying in haste. The Thwaites were as solitary, though no doubt considerably safer, than any boycotted household in the wilds of Western Ireland. The very household at Whitehills had shrunk in the blight of the alliance which its master had formed. Mrs. Cray had fled from the first unmistakable tokens of the advent of such a mistress, with the odium which would attach to her innocent housekeeper. Mr. Cumberbatch, who knew a good place when he was in it, and had contracted a certain amount of attachment to

Sir William, in spite of his water-drinking and the great difference between him and the Dean, lingered on till-without any breach of honour on Cumberbatch's part, since Lady Thwaite generally spoke her asides in a louder voice even than Lady Fermor used he heard his mistress allude to him as an old humbug and blockhead, and was directly addressed by her with primitive playfulness as • White Choker' and 'Shiny Boots.' Neither freedom from control, nor time to himself, nor perquisites could atone for such gross liberties. So Cumberbatch too departed.

Bill Rogers, with considerable shyness and doubt of his powers on his part, was promoted to wait' in the butler's place. Whatever blunders he committed and erratic corrections he attempted, Sir William made no sign, and Lady Thwaite was satisfied. Bill did not care a straw where his own dignity was concerned, though Lady Thwaite, with whom, as Honor Smith, he had been acquainted in her early days, would call him 'Bill,' as she called her husband Will,' and stop him in his duties to recall some story of their old experience, or to tell him news of their common acquaintances. But however led on or laughed at by her, he