Campion's mother
had lately died, and that he was anxious about that clever sister of
his, who had lately written a good novel, and then been ill, and had
gone to Italy. There was that Walcott affair, too, which had lately come
to Sir John's ears, a very awkward affair for Campion to have his
sister's name mixed up in. Probably that was the reason why he was
holding back. Very nice of Campion, very nice. And Sir John became
doubly cordial in his manner, and pressed Sydney to dine with him next
week.

With some reluctance, Sydney accepted the invitation. He had been
perilously near making a fool of himself with Miss Pynsent, and he knew
that she had found it out. It was quite enough to make him feel angry
and resentful, and to wish to avoid her. At the same time, he was
conscious of a feeling of regret that he had muddled matters so
completely--for Miss Pynsent was a lovely girl, her violin-playing was
delicious, she had sixty thousand pounds, and Sir John was his friend.

Sydney lost himself for a moment in a reverie.

"Not very likely," he said, waking up with a rather uneasy laugh. "At
the best of times, I should never have had much chance. There are a good
many reasons against it now." And it was with a slight shade upon his
brow that he dismissed the matter from his mind and applied himself to
business.

He need not have troubled himself. When he went to dine in Eaton Square,
Miss Pynsent was absent. She had gone to spend the evening with a
friend. Evidently, thought Sydney, with an odd feeling of discomfiture,
because she wanted to avoid him. How ridiculous it was! What a
self-conscious little fool she must be to take offense at a compliment,
even if it were rather obvious, and not in the best possible taste! He
began to feel angry with Miss Pynsent. It did not occur to him for some
time that he was expending a great deal of unusual warmth and irritation
on a very trifling matter. What were Miss Pynsent and her opinions to
him? Other women admired him, if she did not; other women were ready
enough to accept his flattery. But just because there was one thing out
of his reach, one woman who showed a positive distaste for his society,
Sydney, like the spoiled child of the world that he was, was possessed
by a secret hankering for that one thing, for the good opinion of the
woman who would have none of him. Vanity was chiefly to blame for this
condition of things; but Sydney's vanity was a plant of very long and
s