Mrs. Armour came forward and took her daughter's arm. "Marion," she
said, "there is something wrong--with Frank. What is it?"

General Armour was now looking up at them all, curiously, questioningly,
through his glasses, his paper laid down, his hands resting on the table.

Marion could not answer. She was sick with regret, vexation, and shame;
at the first flush, death--for Frank--had been preferable to this. She
had a considerable store of vanity; she was not very philosophical.
Besides, she was not married; and what Captain Vidall, her devoted
admirer and possible husband, would think of this heathenish alliance was
not a cheer ful thought to her. She choked down a sob, and waved her
hand towards Richard to answer for her. He was pale too, but cool. He
understood the case instantly; he made up his mind instantly also as to
what ought to be--must be--done.

"Well, mother," he said, "it is about Frank. But he is all right; that
is, he is alive and well-in body. But he has arranged a hateful little
embarrassment for us--he is married."

"Married!" exclaimed his mother faintly. "Oh, poor Lady Agnes!"

Marion sniffed a little viciously at this.

"Married? Married?" said his father. "Well, what about it? eh? what
about it?"

The mother wrung her hands. "Oh, I know it is something dreadful--
dreadful! He has married some horrible wild person, or something."