Hugh was excited out of recognition of his former half-scornful,
half-_blasé_ self. That woman must be his wife. She would save him from
himself, this cynical, restless self, which never remained in one stay.
The half-acknowledged weakness in his nature unconsciously flung itself
upon her strength, a strength which had been tried. She would love him,
and uphold him. There would be no more yielding to circumstances if that
pure, strong soul were close beside him. He would lean upon her, and the
ugly by-paths of these last years would know him no more. Her presence
would leaven his whole life. In the momentary insanity, which was
perhaps, after all, only a prophetic intuition, he had no fears, no
misgivings. He thought that with that face it was not possible that she
could be so wicked as to refuse him.

"She will marry me," he said to himself. "She must."

Lady Newhaven touched him gently on the arm.

"I dared not speak to you before," she said. "Nearly every one has gone.
Will you take me down to supper? I am tired out."

He stared at her, not recognizing her.

"Have I vexed you?" she faltered.

And with a sudden horrible revulsion of feeling he remembered. The poor
chromo had fallen violently from its nail. But the nail remained--ready.
He took her into the supper-room and got her a glass of champagne. She
subsided on to a sofa beside another woman, vaguely suspecting trouble
in the air. He felt thankful that Rachel had already gone. Dick, nearly
the last, was putting on his coat, arranging to meet Lord Newhaven the