th carried picture-cord and
scissors; Julie the hammer and nails. Meredith was expressing the
profoundest disbelief in Jacob's practical capacities; Jacob was
defending himself hotly; and Julie laughed at both.

Towards the other end of the room stood the tea-table, between the fire
and an open window. Lord Lackington sat beside it, smiling to himself,
and stroking a Persian kitten. Through the open window the twinkling
buds on the lilacs in the Cureton House garden shone in the still
lingering sun. A recent shower had left behind it odors of earth and
grass. Even in this London air they spoke of the spring--the spring
which already in happier lands was drawing veils of peach and cherry
blossom, over the red Sienese earth or the green terraces of Como. The
fire crackled in the grate. The pretty, old-fashioned room was fragrant
with hyacinth and narcissus; Julie's books lay on the tables; Julie's
hand and taste were already to be felt everywhere. And Lord Lackington
with the kitten, beside the fire, gave the last touch of home and
domesticity.

"So I find you established?" said Warkworth, smiling, to the lady with
the nails, while Delafield nodded to him from the top of the steps and
Meredith ceased to chatter.

"I haven't a hand, I fear," said Julie. "Will you have some tea? Ah,
Leonie, tu vas en faire de nouveau, n'est-ce pas, pour ce monsieur?"

A little woman in black, with a shawl over her shoulders, had just
glided into the room. She had a small, wrinkled face, bright eyes, and a
much-flattened nose.

"Tout de suite, monsieur," she said, quickly, and disappeared with the
teapot. Warkworth guessed, of course, that she was Madame Bornier, the
foster-sister--the "Propriety" of this _menage_.

"Can't I help?" he said to Julie, with a look at Delafield.

"It's just done," she said, coldly, handing a nail to Delafield. "_Just_
a trifle more to the right. Ecco! Perfection!"

"Oh, you spoil him," said Meredith, "And not one word of praise for
me!"

"What have you done?" she said, laughing. "Tangled the cord--that's
all!"

Warkworth turned away. His face, so radiant as he entered, had settled
into sharp, sudden lines. What was the meaning of this voice, this
manner? He remembered that to his three letters he had received no word
of reply. But he had interpreted that to mean that she was in the throes
of moving and could find no time to write.

As he neared the tea-table, Lord Lackington looked up. He greeted t