or were too conventional
to appreciate his character. With women he was a favourite, and their
society was his greatest pleasure; yet, in spite of his fervid
temperament--in appearance fervid, at all events--he never seemed to
fall in love. Some there were who said that the self he went so far to
discover would prove to have a female form. Perhaps there was truth in
this; perhaps he sought, whether consciously or no, the ideal woman.
None of those with whom he companioned had a charge of light wooing to
bring against him, though one or two would not have held it a
misfortune if they had tempted him to forget his speculations and
declare that he had reached his goal. But his striving always seemed to
be for something remote from the world about him. His capacity for warm
feeling, itself undeniable, was never dissociated from that impersonal
zeal which was the characteristic of his expressions in verse. In fact,
he had written no love-poem.

Annabel and her father observed a change in him since his last visit.
This was the first time that he had come without an express invitation,
and they gathered from his speech that he had at length found some
definite object for his energies. His friends had for a long time been
asking what he meant to do with his life. It did not appear that he
purposed literary effort, though it seemed the natural outlet for his
eager thought; and of the career of politics he at all times spoke with
contempt. Was he one of the men, never so common as nowadays, who spend
their existence in canvassing the possibilities that lie before them
and delay action till they find that the will is paralysed? One did not
readily set Egremont in that class, principally, no doubt, because he
was so free from the offensive forms of self-consciousness which are
wont to stamp such men. The pity of it, too, if talents like his were
suffered to rust unused; the very genuineness of his idealism made one
believe in him and look with confidence to his future.

Having dined, all went forth to enjoy the evening upon the lawn. The
men smoked; Annabel had her little table with tea and coffee. Paula had
brought out a magazine, and affected to read. Annabel noticed, however,
that a page was very seldom turned.

'Have you seen Mrs. Ormonde lately?' Mr. Newthorpe asked of Egremont.

'I spent a day at Eastbourne before going to Jersey.'

'She has promised to come to us in the autumn,' said Annabel; 'but she
seems to have such