wever remained that
indiscriminate sociability which took interest and credulity for granted
and about which he bragged least. It made him cheap, it made him even in
a manner vulgar; but it was so contagious that his listener was more or
less on his side as against the probabilities. It was a private
reflection of Oliver Lyon's that he not only lied but made one feel
one's self a bit of a liar, even (or especially) if one contradicted
him. In the evening, at dinner and afterwards, our friend watched his
wife's face to see if some faint shade or spasm never passed over it.
But she showed nothing, and the wonder was that when he spoke she almost
always listened. That was her pride: she wished not to be even suspected
of not facing the music. Lyon had none the less an importunate vision of
a veiled figure coming the next day in the dusk to certain places to
repair the Colonel's ravages, as the relatives of kleptomaniacs
punctually call at the shops that have suffered from their pilferings.

'I must apologise, of course it wasn't true, I hope no harm is done, it
is only his incorrigible----' Oh, to hear that woman's voice in that
deep abasement! Lyon had no nefarious plan, no conscious wish to
practise upon her shame or her loyalty; but he did say to himself that
he should like to bring her round to feel that there would have been
more dignity in a union with a certain other person. He even dreamed of
the hour when, with a burning face, she would ask _him_ not to take it
up. Then he should be almost consoled--he would be magnanimous.

Lyon finished his picture and took his departure, after having worked
in a glow of interest which made him believe in his success, until he
found he had pleased every one, especially Mr. and Mrs. Ashmore, when he
began to be sceptical. The party at any rate changed: Colonel and Mrs.
Capadose went their way. He was able to say to himself however that his
separation from the lady was not so much an end as a beginning, and he
called on her soon after his return to town. She had told him the hours
she was at home--she seemed to like him. If she liked him why had she
not married him or at any rate why was she not sorry she had not? If she
was sorry she concealed it too well. Lyon's curiosity on this point may
strike the reader as fatuous, but something must be allowed to a
disappointed man. He did not ask much after all; not that she should
love him to-day or that she should allow him to tell her t