Mr. Force was not obliged to ride to town the next day, for which he was thankful.

All the family met around the breakfast table in high spirits, with the exception of Mrs. Force and her daughter, Odalite, both of whom were pale and almost silent, trying to overcome their depression of spirits and to take a lively part in the conversation, but failing signally.

Col. Anglesea kept the ball rolling, however, by talking gayly to Miss Meeke, Wynnette and Elva, and sometimes gravely to Mr. Force or others.

Mr. Force watched his wife and daughter very anxiously, and drew his own conclusions from the false premises laid down by Col. Anglesea.

“My dear wife is troubled about Odalite, and Odalite is troubled about herself. They both think that I shall forbid the attentions of Anglesea, and insist on the claims of Leonidas Force. Strange that my dear ones should imagine that I, of all people, could forbid anything they wish, or insist on anything they dislike. I must set their dear hearts at ease without delay.”

Immediately after breakfast, leaving the other members of the family to disperse and pursue their various avocations, he followed his wife into her sitting room, where he found her at her worktable, in her usual corner between the fireplace and the side window.

He closed the door, turned the key, and came and sat beside her.

She looked up in his face uneasily.

He took her hand gently within his own and said:

“Elfrida, dear, why can’t you trust me? Why have you troubled yourself for days with a question that should have been settled satisfactorily on its first arising? Tell me.”

She started slightly, and looked at him intently.

Had he discovered anything? Did he suspect anything?

But no! The honest black eyes fixed on hers had no expression but perfect love and faith.

“Why didn’t you tell me, wife, that Odalite had given her heart to Anglesea? Did you think that I was so selfish as to sacrifice my own child—your child—to my private ambition? No, Elfrida! No, dear! Never think so hardly of me.”

She could not reply. She burst into tears, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed convulsively.

“Don’t! Don’t, Elfrida! You distress yourself with thinking that I am disappointed in my plans for our dear girl. But I am not, really. It came upon me quite suddenly, you see, and I was not prepared for the thought of such a change. And so, you see, just at first, perhaps, I might have expressed more feeling of disappointment at the time than the matter justified. And——Well, I suppose Anglesea has told you, and you distress yourself on my account.”

“Anglesea has told me nothing that passed in his interview with you, dear Abel. Indeed, we have not exchanged a word on the subject since he spoke to you of it,” said Mrs. Force, trying to suppress her sobs and calm her emotion.

“Then why should you grieve so, dear? I am really not so much disappointed, after all; for, indeed, Anglesea behaved in such a frank, noble, generous manner, confessing the whole case to me, telling me how they—himself and Odalite—drifted into this attachment unawares, until it was too late to recede; and how, when he perceived that he loved her with all his heart and soul, he would have gone away rather than have sought to win her from the youth her parents had chosen for her husband; but how, when he discovered that his love was returned by her, he felt himself bound as a man of honor to declare his affection and offer her his hand, subject to her father’s approval.”

“He—told you this?” demanded the lady, in a husky tone, turning away her head to conceal the look of scorn and hatred she could not entirely suppress.

“Yes, dear! he told me this; and then—he left the case in my hands with perfect submission. Could any action have been more manly and straightforward? And she, too—Heaven bless her, she, too! She sent me word, through him, that though her heart was fixed on Angus Anglesea, yet she submitted herself entirely to my will, and would obey my commands. Did ever father have such a daughter, so gentle, so dutiful, so obedient as Odalite? Or did ever girl have such a lover, so noble, generous and magnanimous as Anglesea? Why—fine fellow—he felt for my disappointment as if it had been his own; and he exaggerated it, as I have told you! And he offered—dear fellow—to merge his own name in ours, so that my cherished wish to send the patronymic down with the estate might be carried out.”

“But that will not be necessary,” said the lady, recovering from her emotion, and with a grim smile arising out of her own thoughts.

“How, not necessary, my dear?”

“In this way: Leonidas Force, who is but twenty-one, can afford to wait two years and marry Wynnette, who will then be of marriageable age. They can live at Greenbushes, and in due course of time they can succeed us here at Mondreer.”

“But Mondreer is the heritage of our eldest daughter.”

“Not necessarily; not by entail, only by tradition and custom. You can leave your estate to whom you please; though, of course, you need not think of leaving it to any one; for you may hold it yourself for fifty years to come. You are not forty, and you may live to be ninety. But when you do leave it, it would be better to leave it to Wynnette.”

“And—Odalite?”

“You lose sight of one matter, dear Abel—the future possibilities of our eldest daughter.”

“I—do not quite understand. Anglesea, I know, has no very great expectations from any quarter, and so if he should marry Odalite they may need Mondreer; and Anglesea has promised to take the family name that it may go down with the estate.”

“I think I can show you that the estate of Mondreer can be secured to the Forces by the marriage of Leonidas Force with our second daughter, much better than it ever could be by the marriage of any one, whether Leonidas Force, Angus Anglesea, or another, with our eldest daughter.”

“I wish you would tell me, then, dear, for I am in a maze.”

“Have you forgotten that the Earldom of Enderby, failing male heirs, descends to the female line? ‘falls to the distaff,’ as old writers call it?”

“No, I have not forgotten it, for I never knew it,” replied honest Abel, lifting his eyebrows.

“Know it now, then! I have never spoken of this matter to you before; because, indeed, I have seldom thought of it at all, and nothing has occurred until now to recall it to my mind; but it is a fact of too serious importance to be overlooked at this crisis. Reflect now, that there is only one frail life between me and the heirship of my father’s earldom—the life of my epileptic half-brother Francis, who, inheriting the malady of his beautiful young mother who perished in her youth, has declared that he will never marry to perpetuate such a misfortune.”

“We will not, dear, speculate on the possible early death of your brother,” said Abel Force, gravely and tenderly, but without the slightest shade of rebuke in his tones.

“No, we will not speculate; but we cannot avoid thinking of the possible, and, indeed, the very probable future of our eldest daughter, and guide ourselves accordingly,” replied the lady.

“In what way?” gently inquired her husband.

“In this way, then: We must admit that it is not at all unlikely that our eldest daughter may live to inherit her grandfather’s earldom and become Countess of Enderby in her own right. In which case, should she be living here, the wife of an American citizen, she must either lose all the privileges of her rank and title or else go to England and reside upon her estates there, leaving this place in the hands of strangers. I do not say that she would be legally obliged to take this alternative, but she would be conventionally and practically constrained to do so. Whereas, if she should marry an English gentleman, all would be well with her; she would then in any case make her home in England, and when she should inherit the Earldom of Enderby she could enter upon her new dignities without any disturbance of her domestic or social life. And if, in addition to this, Le should wed Wynnette, all would be well with them and with Mondreer; the old estate would remain in the old name. Don’t you see?”

“Yes, I see. It is all for the best, of course. All for the best. So I shall tell my little girl. I long to tell her, face to face, how well satisfied I am, and should be in any event, that she should please herself. I want to tell her how well I think of her choice—how nobly I think he has acted, and—many things that will bring back the roses to her cheeks and the laughter to her lips. But I will not tell her of her future brilliant possibilities in England, and I hope that you have not done so.”

“No, never!”

“Quite right. I would have her build her hopes of happiness on better foundations. Where can I find her?”

“She is in her own room; but I would not talk to her to-day. She is so shaken. Her little, tender heart is so pained—now that she has decided to please herself—to think of the suffering she may cause Le.”

“Oh, that is what is the matter with her, is it? Well, tell her Le must console himself with Wynnette! Oh, it will all come right! I am quite confident that it will all come right!” happily concluded the honest squire, rising to leave the room.

He stooped and kissed his wife and then went out whistling an old hunting tune.