em to another. Her smiles are
equally dispensed, no one is passed over, and she has the rare talent of
making every single individual in the crowded room feel himself to be the
one particular person whom Lady Kynaston is especially rejoiced to see.
She has tact, and she has sympathy--two invaluable gifts in a woman.

Conspicuous among the crowd of well-dressed and handsome women is Helen
Romer. She sits on an ottoman at the further end of the room, where she
holds a little court of her own, dispensing her smiles and pleasant words
among the little knot of men who linger admiringly by her side.

She is in black, with masses of gold embroidery about her, and she
carries a large black and gold feather fan in her hands, which she
moves rapidly, almost restlessly, up and down; her eyes wander often
to the doorway, and every now and then she raises her hand with a short,
impatient action to her blonde head, as though she were half weary of
the talk about her.

Presently, Lady Kynaston, moving slowly among her guests, comes near her,
and, leaning for a moment on the back of the ottoman, presses her hand as
she passes.

Mrs. Romer is a favourite of hers; she is pretty, and she is piquant in
manner and conversation; two very good things, which she thinks highly of
in any young woman. Besides that, she knows that Helen loves her younger
son; and, although she hardly understands how things are between them,
nor how far Maurice himself is implicated, she believes that Helen will
eventually inherit her grandfather's money, and, liking her personally,
she has seen no harm in encouraging her too plainly displayed affection.
Moreover, the love they both bear to him has been a link between them.
They talk of him together almost as a mother and a daughter might do;
they have the same anxieties over his health, the same vexations over
his debts, the same rejoicings when his brother comes forward with his
much-needed help. Lady Kynaston does not want her darling to marry yet,
but when the time shall come for him to take unto himself a wife, she
will raise no objection to pretty Helen Romer, should he bring her to
her, as a daughter-in-law.

As the old lady stoops over her, Helen's upturned wistful eyes say as
plainly as words can say it--

"Is he coming to-night?"

"Maurice will be here presently, I hope," says his mother, answering the
look in her eyes; "he was to come up by the six o'clock train; he will
dine at his club and come