ol near the fireplace. A few
old English prints hung on the walls, and between the windows there was
a Chippendale cabinet filled with Worcester and Crown Derby china. The
aspect of all things was restful, emotionless, and some of its calm
seemed to overtake and soothe David's agitated spirit. He sat down at
the piano and played, with much passion, bits from Wagner's "_Tristan_,"
the first performance of which he had seen at Munich. "Good Heavens!" he
thought. "What a genius! What a soul! What a phrase!" Suddenly the door
opened and Agnes Carillon was ushered in. She hesitated a second, and
then recognised Rennes, who had his back to the light. Her first
instinct was to retreat; her first feeling was a strange sensation of
pleasure and fear. His usually cold and wearied face took an expression
of controlled but unmistakable delight. She blushed, though not with
resentment, yet she avoided, by appearing to have some difficulty with
her muff, his outstretched hand.

"I have called on your mother," said she. "I thought you would be on
your way to Rome."

Her lips were red and rather full: her cheeks were pink, her throat and
brows were white. Her demeanour was, while modest, neither shy nor
self-conscious. David was struck by her height and the extreme
slightness of her figure. She wore a large Gainsborough hat with long
plumes, a black gown, and a collar of old _point de Venise_. She had
come up from the country, and her presence brought its freshness.

"Why are you in town?" he asked abruptly.

"I was bored at home."

"And the trousseau?"

"The trousseau?" she said, lifting her eyes for the first time to his.

"They say it is unlucky to try on your wedding-dress," he continued,
seeking relief in the very torture of reminding himself that the date of
her marriage with Lord Reckage was fixed.

"I never think about luck," she answered.

"I met Reckage at the play last night. I lunched with him to-day," said
Rennes.

"I am so glad that you are friends. I want you to like him."

"No doubt he thinks me mad. Politicians always regard artists as
madmen."

"But Beauclerk is considered very cultured. I hate the word. He is
interested in art."

"No doubt--as a means of investment, an educational influence, or a
topic of conversation for light moments."

"You are severe. Yet I like to hear you talk."

She hoped that his talk would drown the singing in her heart, the
whispering in her ears, the footsteps of doubt-