ak. Besides, they always
die when one is fond of them, and I quite agree with Kipling that with
so much unavoidable discomfort to put up with, it's the height of folly
to 'give one's heart to a dog to tear.' In future I yield no fraction of
my heart to any living creature--not even a dog."

Certainly Chloe's drawing-room was a battlefield of conflicting emotions
this evening. Just for a moment she had been shaken out of her usual
poise, had spoken warmly, as a normal woman might have done; yet both
Iris who loved her, and Anstice who had studied her, knew that this
warmer manner, this apparent freedom of speech, was in reality the
outward sign of some inward disturbance; and both guessed, vaguely, that
the meeting with her brother, who had not been in England for several
years, was the cause of her unusual animation.

Fortunately as she finished speaking the gong which summoned them to
dinner began to sound; and a moment later Bruce offered his arm to Iris
and led her into the dining-room, followed by Anstice and his hostess.

Not appearing to notice his proffered arm, Chloe walked beside him in a
sudden pensive silence which Anstice found oddly appealing after her
impetuous speech; and for a moment he forgot his own equivocal position
in a desire to help her through what he guessed to be a trying moment.

Once seated at the pretty round table things became easier. The room was
softly lit by innumerable candles--a fancy of Chloe's--and in their
tender light both women looked their best. As usual Mrs. Carstairs wore
white, the fittest setting, Anstice thought, for her pale and tragic
grace; but to-night she had thrown a wonderful Chinese scarf round her
shoulders, and the deep blue ground, embroidered with black and green
birds and flowers, gave an unusually distinctive note to her elusive
personality. Opposite to her Iris, in her filmy grey-green frock, a big
bunch of violets at her breast, wore the look of a nymph, some woodland
creature whose fragrant charm and youthful freshness were in striking
contrast to Chloe's more finished beauty.

The conversation, once started, ran easily enough. Although he never
mentioned India, Cheniston was ready enough to talk of Egypt, where for
some years he had made his home; and Iris, to whose young imagination
the very name of that mysterious land was a charm, listened entranced to
his description of a trip he had lately taken up the Nile.

"You are an engineer, Mr. Cheniston?"