They say that perfect love casteth out fear.  If it be so the love of children to their parents is seldom altogether perfect,—­and perhaps had better not be quite perfect.  With this young man it was not that he feared anything which his father could do to him, that he believed that in consequence of his declaration which he had to make his comforts and pleasures would be curtailed, or his independence diminished.  But he feared that he would make his father unhappy, and he was conscious that he had so often sinned in that way.  He had stumbled so frequently!  Though in action he would so often be thoughtless,—­yet he understood perfectly the effect which had been produced on his father’s mind by his conduct.  He had it at heart ‘to be good to the governor’, to gratify that most loving of all possible friends, who, as he well knew, was always thinking of his welfare.  And yet he never had been ’good to the governor’;—­nor had Gerald;—­and to all this was added his sister’s determined perversity.  It was thus he feared his father.

He paused for a moment, while the Duke stood with his back to the fire looking at him.  ‘I’m afraid that it is all over, sir,’ he said.

‘All over!’

‘I am afraid so, sir.’

‘Why is it all over?  Has she refused you?’

‘Well, sir;—­it isn’t quite that.’  Then he paused again.  It was so difficult to begin about Isabel Boncassen.

‘I am sorry for that,’ said the Duke, almost hesitating; ’very sorry.  You will understand, I hope, that I should make no inquiry into the matter, unless I felt myself warranted in doing so by what you had yourself told me in London.’

‘I understand all that.’

’I have been very anxious about it, and have even gone so far as to make some preparations for what I had hoped would be your early marriage.’

‘Preparations!’ exclaimed Silverbridge, thinking of church bells, bride cake, and wedding presents.

’As to the property.  I am anxious that you should enjoy all the settled independence which can belong to an English gentleman.  I never plough or sow.  I know no more of sheep and bulls than of the extinct animals of earlier ages.  I would not have it so with you.  I would fain see you surrounded by those things which ought to interest a nobleman in this country.  Why is it all over with Lady Mabel Grex?’

The young man looked imploringly at his father, as though earnestly begging that nothing more might be said about Mabel.  ’I had changed my mind before I found out that she was really in love with me!’ He could not say that.  He could not hint that he might still have Mabel if he would.  The only thing for him was to tell everything about Isabel Boncassen.  He felt that in doing this he must begin with himself.  ‘I have rather changed my mind, sir,’ he said, ‘since we were walking together in London that night.’

‘Have you quarrelled with Lady Mabel?’