er
liked the man--though he had his good points," he added a little
awkwardly, as inconvenient memories of the many kindnesses which he
had received at Rainham's hands thrust themselves upon him. "But I'm
afraid he's hardly the sort of person one ought to be intimate with.
Especially you, and Eve. Of course, for her it's out of the
question."

"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Sylvester decisively; "and they haven't
seen him since, I need hardly say. In fact, they haven't even heard
of him. They haven't told a soul except me, and of course I sha'n't
tell anybody," the lady concluded with a sigh, as she remembered how
difficult she had found it to drive straight home without breaking
the vow of secrecy which her daughter had exacted from her.

Whatever Mrs. Sylvester may have thought, it is certain that the
interview, from which she enjoyed the impression of having emerged
so triumphantly, had brought anything but consolation to her
daughter, whose first impulse was to blame herself quite angrily for
having admitted to her secret places, after all so natural a
confidante.

Nor had Eve repented of this feeling. As time went on she found her
mother's somewhat too obviously complacent attitude more and more
exasperating, and she compared her want of reserve very unfavourably
with her husband's demeanour (it must be owned that he had his
reasons for a certain reticence). Against Colonel Lightmark, also,
she cherished something of resentment, for he, too, more especially
in collaboration with her mother, was wont to indulge in elderly,
moral reflections, which, although for the most part no names were
mentioned, were evidently not directed generally and at hazard
against the society of which the Colonel and Mrs. Sylvester formed
ornaments so distinguished.

Upon one afternoon, when Christmas was already a thing of the past,
and the days were growing longer, it was with considerable relief
that Eve heard the outer door close upon her mother, leaving
her alone in the twilight of the smaller portion of the double
drawing-room. She was alone, for Mrs. Sylvester had been the last
to depart of a small crowd of afternoon callers, and Dick was
interviewing somebody--a frame-maker, a model, or a dealer--in
the studio. She sat with a book unopened in her hand, gazing
intently into the fire, which cast responsive flickers over her
face, giving a shadowed emphasis to the faint line which had begun
to display itself, not unattractively, b