“Because you are so big, and so handsome, and so”—Lilith laughed, a tinkling, girlish laugh, which took the sting from the word—“stupid!” She bent nearer to him, with a caressing gesture, and Francis slipped his arm round her waist, and laughed in sympathy. The dear, wee mite! What nonsense she did talk!
“I don’t care what is your reason, so long as you do love me. And how soon will you be ready to marry your stupid man?”
“Do people always marry the people they love?” Lilith asked innocently; and Francis said they did; of course they did. What else was there for them to do?
He remembered afterwards that though the conversation which followed was entirely agreeable to his feelings, Lilith had persistently avoided a definite promise.
The next morning a letter was handed in at the door of his chambers. It was in Lilith’s writing, and ran as follows:
“Dear Francis—
“I want you to know that I am engaged to be married to Hereward Lowther. He asked me last night, just after you, and I said ‘Yes.’ Thank you so much for all your kindness. It would have been very nice, but I feel sure that we should not have suited.
“Yours affectionately,
“Lilith Wastneys.”
The engagement of Hereward Lowther caused some excitement in the political world, across which he had made so meteoric a flight. Of no one of the younger men in the House had so much been hoped. His first speech was still quoted as the most brilliant effort of the kind within the memory of the present generation, while his tact and his charm had seemed little inferior to his ability. Poor, brilliant, unhappy Lowther, his was but another name added to the list of the men of genius who have been their own worst enemies! So rapid had been his downfall, so flagrant his avoidance of duty, that his friends were convinced that his constituency would not return him a second time.
And now, with the shock of the unexpected, came the news of his matrimonial engagement. The chorus of disapproval was loud, but the Chief frowned thoughtfully, and reserved his opinion.
“If she is the right woman, it may be the saving of him yet. Who is she? Does anyone know?”
“Her name is Wastneys; daughter of a country squire down in Cornwall. Good enough family, so far as that goes.”