ies. She
saw at once that she must not; there was something changed. It was too
odd, but she was afraid of him. She shook herself and determined not to
be silly. She would venture to say what she wished.

"Are things----" she began, but her voice trembled a little as, raising
her head, she saw that he was watching her. "Are things as bad as you
feared?"

He at once looked out of the window.

"Quite as bad as possible. I am just holding out till I can get some
work. Long ago, soon after I left the Foreign Office, I was asked to do
some informal work in Egypt; they wanted a semi-official go-between for
a time. I wish I had not refused then; I have been an ass throughout. If
I had even done occasional jobs they would have had some excuses for
putting me in somewhere now on the ground of my having had experience. I
have just written two articles on an Indian question, for I know that
part of the world as well as anybody over here, and they may lead to
something. Meanwhile, I am very well, so don't waste sympathy on me, I
am lodging with the Tarts, where everything is in apple-pie order."

"Oh, I am glad you are with those nice Tarts!" cried Rose, with genuine
womanly relief, that in another class of life would have found form and
expression in some such remark as that she knew Mary Tart would keep
things clean and comfortable, and would do the airing thoroughly.

Edmund's voice alone had made sympathy impossible, but he was a little
annoyed at the cheerful tone of Rose's words about the Tarts. It was
unlikely that she could have satisfied him in any way by speech or by
silence as to his own affairs. But why was she so very well dressed? He
had got so accustomed to her in soft, shabby black that he was not sure
if he liked this Paris frock; the simplicity of it was too clever.

There was silence, and Rose rearranged a bowl of roses her sister had
sent her from the country. She chose out a copper-coloured bud and held
it towards him, and a certain pleading would creep into her manner as
she did so.

Edmund smiled. She was really always the same quite hopeless mixture of
soft and hard elements.

"Have you seen Mr. Murray, Junior?" he asked.

"Yes; he came this morning, and I can't conceive what to do. At last I
got so dazed with thinking that this afternoon I have tried to forget
all about it."

"That will hardly get things settled," said Edmund, rather drily.

Tears came into her eyes, and were forced back by an