of
books, he would feel no hankerings for town.

An hour later Cassandra descended the great staircase, and made her way
to the drawing-room to await her guests. She had discarded her morning
dress, and moved by some subtle impulse of coquetry had decked herself
in a new creation, which was pleased to call itself a bridge gown. Even
she herself would have been puzzled to give an accurate explanation of
her own motives in so doing; so many elements entered, and intermingled.
Bernard had repulsed her,--let him see what manner of woman he had
repulsed! The remembrance of the girl, rich in youth and love, came
also as a spur to the woman to whom the years had brought disillusion.
Teresa Mallison had placed her on a pinnacle, and worshipped her as a
marvel of grace and beauty,--she wished to retain the girl's admiration,
wished for her own sake to feel conscious of looking her best. She
dressed for Bernard's benefit, for Teresa's, for her own; the only
person of whom she took no account was Dane Peignton himself. He stood
outside her life.

The great drawing-room with its white panelled walls looked somewhat
cold and austere, but round the log fire was a little haven of comfort,
where four Spanish leather screens formed a background for deeply
cushioned sofas. The firelight played on the rich colouring of the old
leather work, on the dainty equipments of the tea table; on Cassandra
herself in her rose-red draperies, on the face, that was so young and
vivid, on the eyes which were so tired.

Dane Peignton approaching from the further end of the room had a moment
to take in the details of the scene, before she saw him in her turn, and
the picture stayed in his mind.

Cassandra on her part regarded Peignton with the added curiosity which
every woman feels towards an embryo lover, seeing him in a new light, as
a central figure in the eternal drama. She saw a tall man with a
military bearing, somewhat at variance with bowed shoulders, a
clean-shaven face, not handsome, not plain, the features large and
roughly hewn, the eyes a dark steel grey. Yet he was attractive. Why
was he so attractive? Cassandra pondered the question while keeping up
a light flow of conversation, and arrived at varying conclusions. It
was his eyes. It was his mouth. It was his mobility of expression. It
was an air of weakness underlying strength, which evoked sympathy and
interest. He _was_ attractive, that was the end of the matter; and