been the life-long rule with him. With a
sensation of gladness at having free time before her, Marian turned to
where Milvain was standing, in front of one of the bookcases. He wore no
symbol of mourning, but his countenance was far graver than usual, and
rather paler. They shook hands in silence.

'I am so grieved--' Marian began with broken voice.

'Thank you. I know the girls have told you all about it. We knew for the
last month that it must come before long, though there was a deceptive
improvement just before the end.'

'Please to sit down, Mr Milvain. Father went out not long ago, and I
don't think he will be back very soon.'

'It was not really Mr Yule I wished to see,' said Jasper, frankly. 'If
he had been at home I should have spoken with him about what I have
in mind, but if you will kindly give me a few minutes it will be much
better.'

Marian glanced at the expiring fire. Her curiosity as to what Milvain
had to say was mingled with an anxious doubt whether it was not too late
to put on fresh coals; already the room was growing very chill, and this
appearance of inhospitality troubled her.

'Do you wish to save it?' Jasper asked, understanding her look and
movement.

'I'm afraid it has got too low.'

'I think not. Life in lodgings has made me skilful at this kind of
thing; let me try my hand.'

He took the tongs and carefully disposed small pieces of coal upon
the glow that remained. Marian stood apart with a feeling of shame
and annoyance. But it is so seldom that situations in life arrange
themselves with dramatic propriety; and, after all, this vulgar
necessity made the beginning of the conversation easier.

'That will be all right now,' said Jasper at length, as little tongues
of flame began to shoot here and there.

Marian said nothing, but seated herself and waited.

'I came up to town yesterday,' Jasper began. 'Of course we have had a
great deal to do and think about. Miss Harrow has been very kind indeed
to the girls; so have several of our old friends in Wattleborough. It
was necessary to decide at once what Maud and Dora are going to do, and
it is on their account that I have come to see you.

The listener kept silence, with a face of sympathetic attention.

'We have made up our minds that they may as well come to London. It's a
bold step; I'm by no means sure that the result will justify it. But I
think they are perhaps right in wishing to try it.'

'They will go on with litera