g, he was remarkably handsome, he was a
distinguished-looking man.

All this happened in one moment. In the moment that followed, I found
myself in Eunice's arms. That odious person, Miss Jillgall, insisted on
embracing me next. And then I was conscious of an indescribable feeling
of surprise. Eunice presented the distinguished-looking gentleman to me
as a friend of hers--Mr. Philip Dunboyne.

"I had the honor of meeting your sister," he said, "in London, at Mr.
Staveley's house." He went on to speak easily and gracefully of the
journey I had taken, and of his friend who had been my fellow-traveler;
and he attended us to the railway omnibus before he took his leave. I
observed that Eunice had something to say to him confidentially, before
they parted. This was another example of my sister's childish character;
she is instantly familiar with new acquaintances, if she happens to like
them. I anticipated some amusement from hearing how she had contrived to
establish confidential relations with a highly-cultivated man like Mr.
Dunboyne. But, while Miss Jillgall was with us, it was just as well to
keep within the limits of commonplace conversation.

Before we got out of the omnibus I had, however, observed one
undesirable result of my absence from home. Eunice and Miss
Jillgall--the latter having, no doubt, finely flattered the
former--appeared to have taken a strong liking to each other.

Two curious circumstances also caught my attention. I saw a change to,
what I call self-assertion, in my sister's manner; something seemed to
have raised her in her own estimation. Then, again, Miss Jillgall was
not like her customary self. She had delightful moments of silence; and
when Eunice asked how I liked Mr. Dunboyne, she listened to my reply
with an appearance of interest in her ugly face which was quite a new
revelation in my experience of my father's cousin.

These little discoveries (after what I had already observed at the
railway-station) ought perhaps to have prepared me for what was to come,
when my sister and I were alone in our room. But Eunice, whether she
meant to do it or not, baffled my customary penetration. She looked as
if she had plenty of news to tell me--with some obstacle in the way of
doing it, which appeared to amuse instead of annoying her. If there is
one thing more than another that I hate, it is being puzzled. I asked
at once if anything remarkable had happened during Eunice's visit to
London.

She