rom the housekeeper's room to the drawing-room, it is to be
further reported that music was tried, as a means of getting through the
time, in the absence of general conversation. Lady Loring sat down at
the piano, and played as admirably as usual. At the other end of the
room Romayne and Stella were together, listening to the music. Lord
Loring, walking backward and forward, with a restlessness which was far
from being characteristic of him in his after-dinner hours, was stopped
when he reached the neighborhood of the piano by a private signal from
his wife.

"What are you walking about for?" Lady Loring asked in a whisper,
without interrupting her musical performance.

"I'm not quite easy, my dear."

"Turn over the music. Indigestion?"

"Good heavens, Adelaide, what a question!"

"Well, what is it, then?"

Lord Loring looked toward Stella and her companion. "They don't seem to
get on together as well as I had hoped," he said.

"I should think not--when you are walking about and disturbing them! Sit
down there behind me."

"What am I to do?"

"Am I not playing? Listen to me."

"My dear, I don't understand modern German music."

"Then read the evening paper."

The evening paper had its attractions. Lord Loring took his wife's
advice.

Left entirely by themselves, at the other end of the room, Romayne and
Stella justified Lady Loring's belief in the result of reducing her
husband to a state of repose. Stella ventured to speak first, in a
discreet undertone.

"Do you pass most of your evenings alone, Mr. Romayne?"

"Not quite alone. I have the company of my books."

"Are your books the companions that you like best?"

"I have been true to those companions, Miss Eyrecourt, for many years.
If the doctors are to be believed, my books have not treated me very
well in return. They have broken down my health, and have made me, I am
afraid, a very unsocial man." He seemed about to say more, and suddenly
checked the impulse. "Why am I talking of myself?" he resumed with a
smile. "I never do it at other times. Is this another result of your
influence over me?"

He put the question with an assumed gayety. Stella made no effort, on
her side, to answer him in the same tone.

"I almost wish I really had some influence over you," she said, gravely
and sadly.

"Why?"

"I should try to induce you to shut up your books, and choose some
living companion who might restore you to your happier self."

"It is alre