On a Sunday morning,—while Lord Silverbridge was alone in a certain apartment in the house in Carlton Terrace which was called his own sitting-room¹, the name was brought him of a gentleman who was anxious to see him. He had seen his father and had used all the eloquence² of which he was master,—but not quite with the effect which he had desired. His father had been very kind, but he, too, had been eloquent;—and had, as is often the case with orators³, been apparently⁴ more moved by his own words than by those of his adversary⁵. If he had not absolutely declared himself as irrevocably hostile to Miss Boncassen he had not said a word that might be supposed to give token of assent⁶.

Silverbridge, therefore, was moody⁷, contemplative, and desirous of solitude⁸. Nothing that the Duke had said had shaken him. He was still sure of his pearl, and quite determined⁹ that he would wear it. Various thoughts were running through his brain. What if he were to abdicate¹⁰ the title and become a republican? He was inclined to think that he could not abdicate, but he was quite sure that no one could prevent him from going to America and calling himself Mr. Palliser. That his father would forgive him and accept the daughter-in-law brought to him, were he in the first place to marry without sanction, he felt quite sure. What was there that his father would not forgive? But then Isabel would not assent to this. He was turning it all in his head and ever and anon trying to relieve his mind by "Clarissa," which he was reading in

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