isibility during the
scene. She signified a chair, and began the critical study of some rings
she wore.

They talked over the day's news, and then an organ began to grind
outside. The tune was a rollicking air he had heard at some music-hall;
and, by way of a diversion, he asked her if she knew the composition.

'No, I don't!' she replied.

'Now, I'll tell you all about it,' said he gravely. 'It is based on a
sound old melody called "The Jilt's Hornpipe." Just as they turn Madeira
into port in the space of a single night, so this old air has been
taken and doctored, and twisted about, and brought out as a new popular
ditty.'

'Indeed!'

'If you are in the habit of going much to the music-halls or the
burlesque theatres--'

'Yes?'

'You would find this is often done, with excellent effect.'

She thawed a little, and then they went on to talk about her house,
which had been newly painted, and decorated with greenish-blue satin up
to the height of a person's head--an arrangement that somewhat improved
her slightly faded, though still pretty, face, and was helped by the
awnings over the windows.

'Yes; I have had my house some years,' she observed complacently, 'and I
like it better every year.'

'Don't you feel lonely in it sometimes?'

'O never!'

However, before he rose she grew friendly to some degree, and when he
left, just after the arrival of three opportune young ladies she seemed
regretful. She asked him to come again; and he thought he would tell
the truth. 'No: I shall not care to come again,' he answered, in a tone
inaudible to the young ladies.

She followed him to the door. 'What an uncivil thing to say!' she
murmured in surprise.

'It is rather uncivil. Good-bye,' said Pierston.

As a punishment she did not ring the bell, but left him to find his way
out as he could. 'Now what the devil this means I cannot tell,' he said
to himself, reflecting stock-still for a moment on the stairs. And yet
the meaning was staring him in the face.

Meanwhile one of the three young ladies had said, 'What interesting
man was that, with his lovely head of hair? I saw him at Lady
Channelcliffe's the other night.'

'Jocelyn Pierston.'

'O, Nichola, that IS too bad! To let him go in that shabby way, when I
would have given anything to know him! I have wanted to know him ever
since I found out how much his experiences had dictated his statuary,
and I discovered them by seeing in a Jersey paper of the marria