Lord Chiltern, though he had passed two entire days in the house with Violet without renewing his suit, had come to Loughlinter for the express purpose of doing so, and had his plans perfectly¹ fixed² in his own mind. After breakfast on that last morning he was upstairs with his sister in her own room, and immediately made his request to her. “Laura,” he said, go down like a good girl, and make Violet come up here.” She stood a moment looking at him and smiled. “And, mind,” he continued, you are not to come back yourself. I must have Violet alone.”

“But suppose Violet will not come? Young ladies do not generally wait upon young men on such occasions.”

“No — but I rank her so high among young women, that I think she will have common sense enough to teach her that, after what has passed between us, I have a right to ask for an interview, and that it may be more conveniently had here than in the wilderness³ of the house below.”

Whatever may have been the arguments used by her friend, Violet did come. She reached the door all alone, and opened it bravely. She had promised herself, as she came along the passages, that she would not pause with her hand on the lock for a moment. She had first gone to her own room, and as she left it she had looked into the glass with a hurried glance, and had then rested for a moment — thinking that something should be done, that her hair might be smoothed, or a ribbon set straight, or the chain arranged under her brooch. A girl would wish to look well before her lover, even when she means to refuse him. But her pause was but for an instant, and then she went on, having touched nothing. She shook her head and pressed her hands together, and went on quick and opened the door — almost with a little start. “Violet, this is very good of you,” said Lord Chiltern, standing⁴ with his back to the fire, and not moving from the spot.

“Laura has told me that you thought I would do as much as this for you, and therefore I have done it.”

“Thanks, dearest. It is the old story, Violet, and I am so bad at words!”

“I must have been bad at words too, as I have not been able to make you understand.”

“I think I have understood. You are always clear-spoken, and I, though I cannot talk, am not muddle-pated. I have understood. But while you are single there must be yet hope — unless, indeed, you will tell me that you have already given yourself to another man.”

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