nd the next moment Eugene himself rushed in.

"Here you are!" he said. "Thought I should find you. You can't keep
away from this dirty old town."

"Where do you spring from?" asked Ayre.

"Liverpool. I found the Continent slow, so I went to America. Nothing
moving there, so I came back here. Can you give me breakfast?"

Ayre rang the bell, and ordered a new breakfast; as he did so he took up
Morewood's letter and put it in his pocket.

Eugene went on talking with gay affectation about his American
experiences. Only when he was through his breakfast did he approach home
topics.

"Well, how's everybody?"

Ayre waited for a more definite question.

"Seen the Territons lately?"

"Not very. Haven't you?"

"No. They weren't over there, you know. Are they alive?"

"My young friend, are you trying to deceive me? You have heard from at
least one of them, if you haven't seen them?"

"I haven't--not a line. We don't correspond: not _comme il faut_."

"Oh, you haven't written to Claudia?"

"Of course not."

"Why not?"

"Why should I?"

"Let us go back to the previous question. Have you heard from Miss
Bernard?"

"Why probe my wounds? Not a single line."

"Confound her impudence! she never wrote?"

"I don't know why she should. But in case she ought, I'm bound to say
she couldn't."

"Why not? She said she would; she said so to me."

"She couldn't have said so. You must have misunderstood her. I left no
address, you know; and I had no difficulty in eluding interviewers--not
being a prize-fighter or a minor poet."

Sir Roderick smiled.

"Gad! I never thought of that. She held me, after all."

"What on earth are you driving at?"

"If there's one thing I hate more than another, it's a narrative; but I
see I'm in for it. Sit still and hold your tongue till I'm through with
it."

Eugene obeyed implicitly; and Ayre, not without honest pride, recounted
his Baden triumph.

"And unless she's bolder than I think, you'll find a letter to that
effect."

Eugene sat very quiet.

"Well, you don't seem overpleased, after all. Wasn't I right?"

"Quite right, old fellow. But, I say, is she in love with Haddington?"

"Ah, there's your beastly vanity? I think she is rather, you know, or
she'd never have given herself away so."

"Rum taste!" said Eugene, whose relief at his freedom was tempered by
annoyance at Kate's insensibility. "But I'm awfully obliged. And, by
Jove, Ayre, it's new life to me!"

"I thou