about, scolding her mother in return, and making Lady de Courcy perceive that the struggle was becoming very weary. And then there were other considerations. Mr Crosbie had not much certainly in his own possession, but he was a man out of whom something might be made by family influence and his own standing. He was not a hopeless, ponderous man, whom no leaven could raise. He was one of whose position in society the countess and her daughters need not be ashamed. Lady de Courcy had given no expressed consent to the arrangement, but it had come to be understood between her and her daughter that the scheme was to be entertained as admissible.
Then came these tidings of the little girl down at Allington. She felt no anger against Crosbie. To be angry on such a subject would be futile, foolish, and almost indecorous. It was a part of the game which was as natural to her as fielding is to a cricketer. One cannot have it all winnings at any game. Whether Crosbie should eventually become her own son-in-law or not it came to her naturally, as a part of her duty in life, to howl down the stumps of that young lady at Allington. If Miss Dale knew the game well and could protect her own wicket, let her do so.
She had no doubt as to Crosbie's engagement with Lilian Dale, but she had as little as to his being ashamed of that engagement. Had he really cared for Miss Dale he would not have left her to come to Courcy Castle. Had he been really resolved to marry her, he would not have warded all questions respecting his engagement with fictitious answers. He had amused himself with Lily Dale, and it was to be hoped that the young lady had not thought very seriously about it. That was the most charitable light in which Lady de Courcy was disposed to regard the question.
It behoved Crosbie to write to Lily Dale before dinner. He had promised to do so immediately on his arrival, and he was aware that he would be regarded as being already one day beyond his promise. Lily had told him that she would live upon his letters, and it was absolutely necessary that he should furnish her with her first meal. So he betook himself to his room in sufficient time before dinner, and got out his pen, ink, and paper.
He got out his pen, ink, and paper, and then he found that his difficulties were beginning. I beg that it may be understood that Crosbie was not altogether a villain. He could not sit down and write a letter as coming from his heart, of which as he wrote it he knew the words to be false. He was an ungenerous, worldly, inconstant man, very prone to think well of himself, and to give himself credit for virtues which he did not possess; but he could not be false with premeditated cruelty to a woman he had sworn to love. He could not write an affectionate, warm-hearted letter to Lily, without bringing himself, at any rate for the time, to feel towards her in an affectionate, warm-hearted way. Therefore he now sat himself to work, while his pen yet remained dry in his hand, to remodel his thoughts, which had been turned against Lily and Allington by the craft of Lady de Courcy. It takes some time before a man can do this. He has to struggle with himself in a very uncomfortable way, making efforts which are often unsuccessful. It is sometimes easier to lift a couple of hundredweights than to raise a few thoughts in one's mind which at other moments will come galloping in without a whistle.
He had just written the date of his letter when a little tap came at his door, and it was opened.
'I say, Crosbie,' said the Honourable John, 'didn't you say something yesterday about a cigar before dinner?'
'Not a word,' said Crosbie, in rather an angry tone.
'Then it must have been me,' said John. 'But bring your case with you, and come down to the harness-room, if you won't smoke here. I've had a regular little snuggery fitted up there; and we can go in and see the fellows making up the horses.'
Crosbie wished the Honourable John at the mischief.
'I have letters to write,' said he. 'Besides, I never smoke before dinner.'
'That's nonsense. I've smoked hundreds of cigars with you before dinner. Are you going to turn curmudgeon, too, like George and the rest of them? I don't know what's coming to the world! I suppose the fact is, that little girl at Allington won't let you smoke.'
'The little girl at Allington—' began Crosbie; and then he reflected that it would not be well for him to say anything to his present companion about that little girl. 'I'll tell you what it is,' said he. 'I really have got letters to write which must go by this post. There's my cigar-case on the dressing-table.'
'I hope it will be long before I'm brought to such a state,' said John, taking up the cigars in his hand.
'Let me have the case back,' said Crosbie.
'A present from the little girl, I suppose?' said John. 'All right, old fellow! you shall have it.'
'There would be a nice brother-in-law for a man,' said Crosbie to himself, as the door closed behind the retreating scion of the de Courcy family. And then, again, he took up his pen. The letter must be written, and therefore he threw himself upon the table, resolved
