Colonel Boyce was established in the house, a guest of high honour.

Harry, dazed at the mere fact, could not be very sure how it had happened
or why. The Wavertons, mother and son, had assaulted the Colonel with
hospitality--for a night--for another--for longer and longer--and he,
appearing at first honestly dubious, remained with a benign
condescension.

There is no doubt that, in an honourable way, Lady Waverton was
fascinated by Colonel Boyce. She saw nothing coarse in his
highly-coloured manners, suspected no guile in his flattery or his parade
of importance. Harry, who had never supposed her a wise woman, was
surprised by her complete surrender. He had credited her with too much
pride to succumb to flattery, which was to his taste impudently gross.
But he was not yet old enough to allow that other folks might have tastes
wholly unlike his own, and he had himself--it is perhaps the only trait
of much delicacy in him--a shrinking discomfort under praise.

Colonel Boyce took his victory with a complacency which Harry thought
oddly fatuous in a man so acute.

"Egad, the old lady would go to church with me to-morrow if I asked her;"
he laughed, and seemed to think that in that at least my lady showed
sense.

"You had better take her, sir," said Harry, with a sneer. "I know she has
a good dower. And a fool and her money are soon parted."

"Damme, Harry, you are venomous!" For the first time in their