iece
one of the people you haven't much opinion of?'

Crewe shuffled his feet.

'I wasn't thinking of Miss. Lord.'

'But what is really your opinion of her?' Mrs. Damerel urged softly.

Crewe looked up and down, smiled in a vacant way, and appeared very
uncomfortable.

'May I guess the truth?' said his playful companion.

'No, I'll tell you. I wanted to marry her, and did my best to get her to
promise.'

'I thought so!' She paused on the note of arch satisfaction, and mused.
'How nice of you to confess!--And that's all past and forgotten, is it?'

Never man more unlike himself than the bold advertising-agent in this
colloquy. He was subdued and shy; his usual racy and virile talk had
given place to an insipid mildness. He seemed bent on showing that
the graces of polite society were not so strange to him as one might
suppose. But under Mrs. Damerel's interrogation a restiveness began to
appear in him, and at length he answered in his natural blunt voice:

'Yes, it's all over--and for a good reason.'

The lady's curiosity was still more provoked.

'No,' she exclaimed laughingly, 'I am _not_ going to ask the reason.
That would be presuming too far on friendship.'

Crewe fixed his eyes on a corner of the room, and seemed to look there
for a solution of some difficulty. When the silence had lasted more than
a minute, he began to speak slowly and awkwardly.

'I've half a mind to--in fact, I've been thinking that you ought to
know.'

'The good reason?'

'Yes. You're the only one that could stand in the place of a mother to
her. And I don't think she ought to be living alone, like she is, with
no one to advise and help her.'

'I have felt that very strongly,' said Mrs. Damerel. 'The old servant
who is with her can't be at all a suitable companion--that is, to be
treated on equal terms. A very strange arrangement, indeed. But you
don't mean that you thought less well of her because she is living in
that way?'

'Of course not. It's something a good deal more serious than that.'

Mrs. Damerel became suddenly grave.

'Then I certainly ought to know.'

'You ought. I think it very likely she would have been glad enough to
make a friend of you, if it hadn't been for this--this affair, which
stood in the way. There can't be any harm in telling you, as you
couldn't wish anything but her good.'

'That surely you may take for granted.'

'Well then, I have an idea that she's trying to earn money because
some