why Destiny had been so hard upon him as to force him to receive there at his table as his son-in-law a man who was distasteful to him.  And he was endeavouring to answer the question, taking himself to task and telling himself that his destiny had done him no injury, and that the pride which had been wounded was a false pride.  He was making a brave fight; but during the fight he was hardly fit to be the genial father and father-in-law of young people who were going to be married to one another.  But before the dinner was over he made a great effort.  ‘Tregear,’ he said,—­and even that was an effort, for he had never hitherto mentioned the man’s name without the formal Mister, ’Tregear, as this is the first time you have sat at my table, let me be old-fashioned, and ask you to drink a glass of wine with me.’

The glass of wine was drunk and the ceremony afforded infinite satisfaction to one person there.  Mary could not keep herself from some expression of joy by pressing her finger for a moment against her lover’s arm.  He, though not usually given to such manifestations, blushed up to his eyes.  But the feeling produced on the company was solemn rather than jovial.  Everyone there understood it all.  Mr Boncassen could read the Duke’s mind down to the last line.  Even Mrs Boncassen was aware that an act of reconciliation had been intended.  ’When the governor drank that glass of wine it seemed as though half the marriage ceremony had been performed,’ Gerald said to his brother that evening.  When the Duke’s glass was replaced on the table, he himself was conscious of the solemnity of what he had done, and was half ashamed of it.

When the ladies had gone upstairs the conversation became political and lively.  The Duke could talk freely about the state of things to Mr Boncassen, and was able gradually to include Tregear in the badinage with which he attacked the conservatism of his son.  And so the half hour passed well.  Upstairs the two girls immediately came together, leaving Mrs Boncassen to chew the cud of the grandeur around her in the sleepy comfort of an arm-chair.  ‘And so everything is settled for both of us,’ said Isabel.

’Of course I knew it was to be settled for you.  You told me so at Custins.’

’I did not know it then.  I only told you that he had asked me.  And you hardly believed me.’

‘I certainly believed you.’

‘But you knew about—­Lady Mabel Grex.’

’I only suspected something, and now I know it was a mistake.  It has never been more than a suspicion.’

’And why, when we were at Custins, did you not tell me about yourself?’

‘I had nothing to tell.’

’I can understand that.  But is it not joyful that it should all be settled?  Only poor Lady Mabel!  You have got no Lady Mabel to trouble your conscience.’  From which it was evident that Silverbridge had not told all.

CHAPTER 75