she could feel his presence and hear his tender words?

And so they talked awhile, and then they looked up and surveyed the
scene. Josiah had been joined by Sir Patrick, and they were earnestly
conversing by the fireplace. One or two pairs sat about on the sofas;
but the general company showed signs of flocking off to the
bridge-tables, which were laid out in another drawing-room beyond. And
the couples joined them gradually, until only Lord Wensleydown and
Morella Winmarleigh remained near and watched them with mocking eyes.

Hector had never before realized that Morella could have so much
expression in her face.

How could he ever have thought under any conceivable circumstances, even
at the end of his life, it would be possible to marry her! How thankful
he felt he had never paid her any attention, or from his behavior given
color to his mother's hopes.

He remembered a fairy story he had read in his youth, where a magic
power was given to the hero of discovering what beast each human being
was growing into by grasping their hands. And he wondered, if the gift
had been his, what he should now find was the destiny of those two in
front of him!

Wensleydown, no doubt, would be a great, sensual goat and Morella a
vicious mule. And the idea made him laugh as he turned to Theodora
again, to feast his eyes on her pure loveliness.

The Crow, who had arrived late and been among the last to enter the
drawing-room before dinner, had not yet had an opportunity of speaking
to Mrs. Brown, as he had been dragged off among the first of the
bridge-players.

Presently Mildred looked through the door from the room beyond and
called: "Freddy and Morella, come and play; we must have two more to
make up the numbers. Uncle Patrick will bring Lord Bracondale
presently."

Josiah and Theodora did not count at all, it seemed!

"What intolerable insolence!" said Hector, through his teeth. "I shall
not play bridge or stir from here."

And Lord Wensleydown called back: "Do give one a moment to digest one's
dinner, dear Lady Mildred. Miss Winmarleigh does not want to come yet,
either. We are very--interested--and happy here."

Morella tittered and played with her fan. The dull, slow rage was
simmering within her. Even her vanity could not misinterpret the meaning
of Hector's devotion to Mrs. Brown. He was deeply in love, of course,
and she, Morella, was robbed of her hopes of being Lady Bracondale. Her
usually phlegmatic nature was