yet,--let me hope that, on the same day, I may congratulate you on your
preferment and you may congratulate me upon my marriage."

Vargrave said this with a cheerful and easy smile; and the tone of his
voice was that of a man who wished to convey serious meaning in a jesting
accent.

Mr. Aubrey, meek as he was, felt the insult of the hinted bribe, and
coloured with a resentment no sooner excited than checked. "Excuse me,
my lord, I have now said all; the rest had better be left to your ward
herself."

"Be it so, sir. I will ask you, then, to convey my request to Evelyn to
honour me with a last and parting interview."

Vargrave flung himself on his chair, and Aubrey left him.



CHAPTER IX.

THUS airy Strephon tuned his lyre.--SHENSTONE.

IN his meeting with Evelyn, Vargrave certainly exerted to the utmost all
his ability and all his art. He felt that violence, that sarcasm, that
selfish complaint would not avail in a man who was not loved,--though
they are often admirable cards in the hands of a man who is. As his own
heart was perfectly untouched in the matter, except by rage and
disappointment,--feelings which with him never lasted very long,--he
could play coolly his losing game. His keen and ready intellect taught