There was little time for telling his secret to Lord Earle. The
few guests who had returned to Earlescourt were men of note, and
their host devoted himself to their entertainment.

Lady Earle saw some great change in her son. She fancied that he
spent a great deal of time out of doors. She asked him about it,
wondering if he had taken to studying botany, for late and early
he never tired of rambling in the park. She wondered again at
the flush that crimsoned his face; but the time was coming when
she would understand it all.

It is probable that if Ronald at that time had had as much of
Dora's society as he liked, he would soon have discovered his
mistake, and no great harm would have been done; but the foolish
romance of foolish meetings had a charm for him. In those
hurried interviews he had only time to think of Dora's love--he
never noted her deficiencies; he was charmed with her tenderness
and grace; her artless affection was so pretty; the difference
between her and those with whom he was accustomed to talk was so
great; her very ignorance had a piquant charm for him. So they
went on to their fate.

One by one Lord Earle's guests departed, yet Ronald had not told
his secret. A new element crept into his love, and urged him on.
Walking one day through the park with his father they overtook
Dora's father. A young man was with him and the two were talking
earnestly together, so earnestly that they never heard the two
gentlemen; and in passing by Ronald distinguished the words, "You
give me your daughter, Mr. Thorne, and trust me to make her
happy."