ld woman's impedimenta--her pug Mefistofele, or her matchless
enamels, or her Watteau fans. As she came towards him now with a cup
in her hand, her pale face a little flushed, her dark hair braided
very plainly and neatly above her high forehead, Rainham could not
help thinking that she would make an adorable old maid.

"You look well, Mary," he remarked, holding her at arms' length
critically, with the freedom of an old friend. "You look insultingly
well--I hope you don't mean it."

"I am afraid I do," laughed the girl. "I wish I could say as much
for you."

Rainham shook his head with burlesque solemnity, and sank down with
his fragile cup into the most comfortable of the Louis Quinze chairs
which he could select.

"It's delightful to be back again," he remarked, letting his eyes
wander round the familiar walls. "I know your things by heart, Lady
Garnett; there's not one of them I could spare. Thanks, Mary, no
sugar; cream, if you please. After all, I don't know anyone who has
such charming rooms. Let me see if there is anything new. Yes, those
enamels; introduce me, Mary, please. Yes, they are very nice. By
the way, I picked up some old point for you at Genoa, only I have
not unpacked it yet. But the Gustave Moreau, where is that? Ah,
I see you have shifted it over the piano. Yes, it is exactly
the same; you are all precisely the same; it's delightful, such
constancy--delightful! I take it as a personal compliment. But where
are all the delightful people?"

Lady Garnett smiled placidly.

"The delightful people have gone. To tell you the truth, I am just a
little glad, especially as you have dropped in from the clouds, or
the Riviera di Ponente--which is it, Philip?"

"To be frank with you, from neither. I have it on my conscience to
tell you that I have been back some days. I wanted to come here
before."

"Ah well, so long as you have come now!" said the old lady.

"Your knock was mystifying, Philip," put in the girl presently; "we
expected nobody else but the Sylvesters, and when we heard your
solitary step our hearts sank. We thought that Charles Sylvester had
taken it into his head to come by himself."

"He is a terrible young man," said Lady Garnett; "he is almost as
limited as his mamma, and he takes himself more seriously. When he
is with his sister one can tolerate him, but alone----"

She held up her thin wrinkled hands with a little gesture of
elision, at which her expressive shoulders assiste