tune, it seems," he said, in the course of
an afternoon stroll with the new charmer.

"Who? Oh, Nan Pynsent."

"Pynsent? No. At least, I don't mean the pianiste: I mean the young lady
who played the violin last night."

"Yes, Nan Pynsent, Sir John's half-sister. The heiress--and some people
say the beauty of the county. Why do you look so stupefied, Mr.
Campion?"

"I did not know her, that was all. I thought--who, then, is the lady who
played the piano?"

"Mary Pynsent, a cousin. You surely did not think that _she_ was the
heiress?"

"Why did not Sir John's sister come down to dinner?" said Sydney, waxing
angry.

"She has a craze about the children. Their governess is away, and she
insists on looking after them. She is rather quixotic, you know; full of
grand schemes for the future, and what she will do when she comes of
age. Her property is all in Vanebury, by the bye: you must let her talk
to you about the miners if you want to win her favor. She will be of age
in a few months."

"I shall not try to win her favor."

"Dear me, how black you look, Mr. Campion. Are you vexed that you have
not made her acquaintance?"

"Not at all," said Sydney, clearing his brow. "How could I have looked
at her when you were there?"

The banal compliment pleased Mrs. Murray, and she began to talk of
trivial matters in her usual trivial strain. Sydney scarcely listened:
for once he was disconcerted, and angry with himself. He knew that he
would have talked in a very different strain if he had imagined for one
moment that Jack's companion was Miss Pynsent. He had not, perhaps,
definitely _said_ anything that he could regret; but he was sorry for
the whole tone of his conversation. Would Miss Pynsent repeat his
observations, he wondered, to her sister-in-law? Sydney did not often
put himself in a false position, but he felt that his tact had failed
him now. He returned to the house in an unusually disturbed state of
mind; and a sentence which he overheard in the afternoon did not add to
his tranquillity.

He was passing along a corridor that led, as he thought, to his own
room; but the multiplicity of turnings had bewildered him, and he was
obliged to retrace his steps. While doing so, he passed Lady Pynsent's
boudoir. Although he was unconscious of this fact, his attention was
attracted by the sound of a voice from within. Nan Pynsent's voice was
not loud, but it had a peculiarly penetrating quality; and her words
followe