h rain," he answered. "Another night's downpour
'll make all the difference in the world. Getting hipped, eh? Go and
thump the keyboard a bit--you never get tired of that--and forget the
existence of the obnoxious Manamandhla."

"If I shan't disturb you."

"You know, dear, _you_ never do disturb me," he answered, tenderly.

The girl passed into the other room, and sat down at her piano.

"What a little beast I am to him," she was thinking--"and yet--and yet!
It all seems too awful. How I wish he would let me go away, as I wanted
to."

The notes came gurgling out under her deft touch, but for once her mind
was not in her art. But for the rain she would have taken refuge in
some outdoor pursuit; anything, even if it were to climb up to what she
called her `aerial throne'--dangling between earth and heaven; anything
for movement. But the steady rain came down in monotonous drip--drip;
moreover, it was a cold rain, and under no circumstance was out-of-doors
inviting.

Thornhill sat in his library, and took down book after book, but somehow
he, too, could not settle down to his favourite pastime. His thoughts
were of this child whom he had always idolised, and still did; yet she
repaid him by consistently turning away from him. Perhaps if he had
affected a like indifference it might have told--women being what they
were. Yet, in this case, he could hardly think so; knowing the nature
of the cloud that hung between them; even the venom from beyond the
grave, and the effects of which he had hoped that time would dim. But
time had not done so.

Then his thoughts took another turn--towards his surviving son, to wit;
and, in the result, a great longing to see him again. He, at any rate,
did not share Edala's attitude. His faith in his father was full, frank
and perfect; and he made no secret of the fact. Why should he not come
down on a visit. These stock-broking chaps at the Rand nearly always
hunted in couples like other predatory professionals. Hyland would be
sure to have a partner, or someone who could take charge of his job
while he was away. He would write to him, and by Jove, this was post
day--in fact the boy who rode post over from Elvesdon's was almost due,
only was usually late. However, it didn't matter: he could be detained.

Thornhill got out sheets of paper. Edala, at the present moment, seemed
to be literally obeying his injunctions to `thump the keyboard,' for she
was in full swing in