He had pleased himself in bringing them together--of course Amy Waring must be present too when he himself was, that any _tete-a-tete_ which arose might not be interrupted--and he had dreamed the most agreeable dreams.

He knew Hope--he knew Arthur--it was evidently the hand of Heaven.

He had even mentioned it confidentially to Amy Waring, who was profoundly interested, and who charitably did the same offices for Arthur with Hope Wayne that Lawrence Newt did for the young candidates with her.

The conversation about the picture of Diana had only confirmed Lawrence Newt in his conviction that Arthur Merlin really loved Hope Wayne, whether he himself knew it or not.
And now was he all wrong, after all?
Ridiculous! How could he be?
He tried to persuade himself that he was not.

But he could not forget how persistently Arthur had spoken of Hope only as a fine Diana; and how, after evidently being struck with Abel Newt, he had merely exclaimed, with a kind of suppressed excitement, as if he saw what a striking picture he would make, "Manfred in the Coliseum!" Lawrence Newt drank a glass of wine, thoughtfully.