“Indeed, I think the government is extremely interesting.  It is very like three horses arranged in tandem fashion—­first, you know, the King, a little out of the reach of the whip; then the Lords follow the King, and the Commons are in the shafts, a more ignoble position, but yet—­as we see to-day, possessing a special power of upsetting the coach.”

“Father, I have very important news from America.  Will you listen to it?”

“Yes, if you will tell it to me straight, and not blunder about your meaning.”  “Sir, I have just discovered that a letter sent to me more than two years ago, has been knowingly and purposely detained from me.”

“By whom?”

“A man into whose hands it fell by misdirection.”

“Did the letter contain means of identifying it, as belonging to you?”

“Ample means.”

“Then the man is outside your recognition.  You might as well go to the Bridewell, and seek a second among its riff-raff of scoundrels.  Tell me shortly whom it concerns.”

“Miss Moran.”

“Oh indeed!  Are we to have that subject opened again?”

His face darkened, and George, with an impetuosity that permitted no interruption, told the whole story.  As he proceeded the Earl became interested, then sympathetic.  He looked with moist eyes at the youth so dear to him, and saw that his heart was filled with the energy and tenderness of his love.  His handsome face, his piercingly bright eyes, his courteous, but obstinately masterful manner, his almost boyish passion of anger and impatience, his tall, serious figure, erect, as if ready for opposition; even that sentiment of deadly steel, of being impatient to toss his sheath from his sword, pleased very much the elder man; and won both his respect and his admiration.  He felt that his son had rights all his own, and that he must cheerfully and generously allow them.

“George,” he answered, “you have won my approval.  You have shown me that you can suffer and be faithful, and the girl able to inspire such an affection, must be worthy of it.  What do you wish to do?”

“I am going to America by the next packet.”

“Sit down, then we can talk without feeling that every word is a last word, and full of hurry and therefore of unreason.  You desire to see Miss Moran without delay, that is very natural.”

“Yes, sir.  I am impatient also to get my letter.”

“I think that of no importance.”

“What would you have done in my case, and at my age, father?”

“Something extremely foolish.  I should have killed the man, or been killed by him.  I hope that you have more sense.  Society does not now compel you to answer insult with murder.  The noble not caring of the spirit, is beyond the mere passion of the animal.  What does Annie say?”

“Annie is an angel.  I walk far below her—­and I hate the man who has so wronged—­Cornelia.  I think, sir, you must also hate him.”