her angry.

"Of course I am not well--I am never well," she answered; "but I am no
worse than usual. There is someone else in the house whose appearance
you had better enquire after."

"You are fond of talking in riddles. Do you mean the General?" said
Hubert drily.

"No, not the General," Florence answered, setting her lips.

Hubert shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject. He had not an
idea of what she meant; but when, shortly before dinner, he first saw
Enid, a light flashed across his mind--Flossy meant that the girl was
ill. He had certainly been rather dense and rather unkind, he thought to
himself, not to ask after her. And how delicate she was looking! What
was the matter with her? It was not merely that she was thinner and
paler, but that an indefinable change had come over her countenance. The
shadow that had always lurked in her sweet eyes seemed to have fallen at
last over her whole face, darkening its innocent candor, obscuring its
tranquil beauty; the look of truthfulness and of ignorance of evil had
gone. No child-face was it now--rather that of a woman who had been
forced to look evil in the face, and was repelled and sickened at the
sight. There was no joy in the eyes with which Enid now looked upon the
world.

Hubert watched her steadily through the long and elaborate meal which
the General thought appropriate to New Year's eve, noting her weariness,
her languor, her want of interest in anything that went on, and could
not understand the change. Was this girl--sick apparently in body and
mind--the guileless maiden who had listened with such flattering
attention to the stories of his wanderings in foreign lands, when he
last came down to Beechfield Hall? He tried her with similar tales--they
had no interest for her now. She was silent, _distraite_, preoccupied.
Still gentle and sweet to every one, she was no longer bright; smiles
seemed to be banished for ever from her lips.

She and Florence scarcely spoke to each other. The General did not seem
to notice this fact; but Hubert had not been half an hour in their
company before he recognised its force. They must have quarrelled, he
said to himself rather angrily--Flossy had probably tried to tyrannise,
and the girl had resented her interference. Flossy was a fool; he would
speak to her about it as soon as he had the opportunity, and get the
truth from her--forgetting for the moment that, if ever a man set
himself an impossible task, it was