e glance; and though she remained
in the room, she seated herself at a distance, and bent over a book.

It was touching to see how the austere man of business lent himself
to draw forth the mind of this quiet, shrinking girl; and if you had
listened, you would have comprehended how he came to possess such social
influence, and how well, some time or other in the course of his life,
he had learned to adapt himself to women.

He spoke first of Harley L'Estrange,--spoke with tact and delicacy.
Helen at first answered by monosyllables, and then, by degrees, with
grateful and open affection. Audley's brow grew shaded. He then spoke
of Italy; and though no man had less of the poet in his nature, yet
with the dexterity of one long versed in the world, and who had been
accustomed to extract evidences from characters most opposed to his
own, he suggested such topics as might serve to arouse poetry in others.
Helen's replies betrayed a cultivated taste, and a charming womanly
mind; but they betrayed, also, one accustomed to take its colourings
from another's,--to appreciate, admire, revere the Lofty and the
Beautiful, but humbly and meekly. There was no vivid enthusiasm, no
remark of striking originality, no flash of the self-kindling, creative
faculty. Lastly, Egerton turned to England,--to the critical nature of
the times, to the claims which the country possessed upon all who had
the ability to serve and guide its troubled destinies. He enlarged
warmly on Harley's natural talents, and rejoiced that he had returned to
England, perhaps to commence some great career. Helen looked surprised,
but her face caught no correspondent glow from Audley's eloquence.
He rose, and an expression of disappointment passed over his grave,
handsome features, and as quickly vanished.

"Adieu, my dear Miss Digby; I fear I have wearied you, especially with
my politics. Adieu, Lady Lansmere; no doubt I shall see Harley as soon
as he returns."

Then he hastened from the room, gained his carriage, and ordered the
coachman to drive to Downing Street. He drew down the blinds, and leaned
back. A certain languor became visible in his face, and once or twice,
he mechanically put his hand to his heart.

"She is good, amiable, docile,--will make an excellent wife, no doubt,"
said he, murmuringly. "But does she love Harley as he has dreamed of
love? No! Has she the power and energy to arouse his faculties, and
restore to the world the Harley of old? No! M