d ... or, perhaps, advise
me a little?" he ended tentatively.

"I don't lend my books," said Johanna more rudely than she had yet
spoken. And that was all Maurice could get from her. A minute or two
later, she rose and went out of the room.

It became much less restrained as soon as the door had closed behind
her. Ephie laughed more roguishly, and Mrs. Cayhill allowed herself to
find what her little daughter said, droller than before. With an
appearance of unconcern, Maurice strolled back to the group by the
window. Dove was also talking of literature.

"That reminds me, how did you like the book I lent you on Wednesday,
Mrs. Cayhill?" he asked, at the same instant springing forward to pick
up Ephie's handkerchief, which had fallen to the ground.

"Oh, very much indeed, very interesting, very good of you," answered
Mrs. Cayhill. "Ephie, darling, the sun is shining right on your face."

"What was it?" asked James, while Dove jumped up anew to lower the
blind, and Ephie raised a bare, dimpled arm to shade her eyes.

Mrs. Cayhill could not recollect the title just at once she had a
"wretched memory for names"--and went over what she had been reading.

"Let me see, it was ... no, that was yesterday: SHADOWED BY THREE, a
most delightful Book. On Friday, RICHARD ELSMERE, and--oh, yes, I know,
it was about a farm, an Australian farm."

"THE STORY OF AN AFRICAN FARM," put in Dove mildly, returning to his
seat.

"Australian or African, it doesn't matter which," said Mrs. Cayhill.
"Yes, a nice book, but a little coarse in parts, and very foolish at
the end--the disguising, and the dying out of doors, and the
looking-glass, and all that."

"I must say I think it a very powerful book," said Dove solemnly. "That
part, you know, where the boy listens to the clock ticking in the
night, and thinks to himself that with every tick, a soul goes home to
God. A very striking idea!"

"Why, I think it must be a horrid book," cried Ephie. "All about dying.
Fancy some one dying every minute. It couldn't possibly be true. For
then the world would soon be empty."

"Always there are coming more into it," said Furst, in his blunt,
broken English.

A pause ensued. Dove flicked dust off his trouser-leg; and the American
men present were suddenly fascinated by the bottoms of their cups.
Ephie was the first to regain her composure.

"Now let us talk of something pleasant, something quite different--from
dying." She turned and, over he