ice, revelling unconsciously in the vivacity
of her blood, and consciously in her power over Harry, which Harry
strove in vain to conceal under an assumed equanimity.

And as Millicent sang the ballad Leonora was beguiled, by her singing,
into a mood of vague but overpowering melancholy. It seemed tragic that
that fresh and pure voice, that innocent vanity, and that untested
self-confidence should change and fade as maturity succeeded adolescence
and decay succeeded maturity; it seemed intolerable that the ineffable
charm of the girl's youth must be slowly filched away by the thefts of
time. 'I was like that once! And Jack too!' she thought, as she gazed
absently at the pair in front of the piano. And it appeared incredible
to her that she was the mother of that tall womanly creature, that the
little morsel of a child which she had borne one night had become a
daughter of Eve, with a magic to mesmerise errant glances and desires.
She had a glimpse of the significance of Nature's eternal iterance. Then
her mood developed a bitterness against Millicent. She thought cruelly
that Millicent's magic was no part of the girl's soul, no talent
acquired by loving exertion, but something extrinsic, unavoidable, and
unmeritorious. Why was it so? Why should fate treat Milly like a
godchild? Why should she have prettiness, and adorableness, and the
lyric gift, and such abounding confident youth? Why should circumstances
fall out so that she could meet her unacknowledged lover openly at all
seasons? Leonora's eyes wandered to the figure of Ethel reclining with
shut eyes in the arm-chair. Ethel in her graver and more diffident
beauty had already begun to taste the sadness of the world. Ethel might
not stand victoriously by her lover in the midst of the drawing-room,
nor joyously flip his ear when he struck a wrong note on the piano.
Ethel, far more passionate than the active Milly, could only dream of
her lover, and see him by stealth. Leonora grieved for Ethel, and envied
her too, for her dreams, and for her solitude assuaged by clandestine
trysts. Those trysts lay heavy on Leonora's mind; although she had
discovered them, she had done nothing to prevent them; from day to day
she had put off the definite parental act of censure and interdiction.
She was appalled by the serene duplicity of her girls. Yet what could
she say? Words were so trivial, so conventional. And though she
objected to the match, wishing with ardour that Ethel might