"It will be better not to thwart him," interrupted Lady Earle.
"Let me manage the matter, Rupert. I will go down to the lodge
tomorrow, and persuade them to send the girl away; and then we
will take Ronald abroad, and he will forget all about it in a few
months."

All night long the gentle lady of Earlescourt was troubled by
strange dreams--by vague, dark fears that haunted her and would
not be laid to rest.

"Evil will come of it," she said to herself--"evil and sorrow.
This distant shadow saddens me now."

The next day she went to the lodge, and asked for Dora. She half
pardoned her son's folly when she saw the pretty dimpled face,
the rings of dark hair, lying on the white neck. The girl was
indeed charming and modest, but unfitted--oh, how unfitted!
ever to be Lady Earle. She was graceful as a wild flower is
graceful; but she had no manner, no dignity, no cultivation. She
stood blushing, confused, and speechless, before the "great
lady."

"You know what I want you for, Dora," said Lady Earle, kindly.
"My son has told us of the acquaintance between you. I am come
to say it must cease. I do not wish to hurt or wound you. Your
own sense must tell you that you can never be received by Lord
Earle and myself as our daughter. We will not speak of your
inferiority in birth and position. You are not my son's equal in
refinement or education; he would soon discover that, and tire of