over what I have said?'

Marian promised that she would, and was glad to bring the conversation
to an end.

When Sunday came, Yule inquired of his daughter if she had any
engagement for the afternoon.

'Yes, I have,' she replied, with an effort to disguise her
embarrassment.

'I'm sorry. I thought of asking you to come with me to Quarmby's. Shall
you be away through the evening?'

'Till about nine o'clock, I think.'

'Ah! Never mind, never mind.'

He tried to dismiss the matter as if it were of no moment, but Marian
saw the shadow that passed over his countenance. This was just after
breakfast. For the remainder of the morning she did not meet him, and at
the mid-day dinner he was silent, though he brought no book to the table
with him, as he was wont to do when in his dark moods. Marian
talked with her mother, doing her best to preserve the appearance of
cheerfulness which was natural since the change in Yule's demeanour.

She chanced to meet her father in the passage just as she was going
out. He smiled (it was more like a grin of pain) and nodded, but said
nothing.

When the front door closed, he went into the parlour. Mrs Yule was
reading, or, at all events, turning over a volume of an illustrated
magazine.

'Where do you suppose she has gone?' he asked, in a voice which was only
distant, not offensive.

'To the Miss Milvains, I believe,' Mrs Yule answered, looking aside.

'Did she tell you so?'

'No. We don't talk about it.'

He seated himself on the corner of a chair and bent forward, his chin in
his hand.

'Has she said anything to you about the review?'

'Not a word.'

She glanced at him timidly, and turned a few pages of her book.

'I wanted her to come to Quarmby's, because there'll be a man there who
is anxious that Jedwood should start a magazine, and it would be useful
for her to hear practical opinions. There'd be no harm if you just spoke
to her about it now and then. Of course if she has made up her mind
to refuse me it's no use troubling myself any more. I should think you
might find out what's really going on.'

Only dire stress of circumstances could have brought Alfred Yule to make
distinct appeal for his wife's help. There was no underhand plotting
between them to influence their daughter; Mrs Yule had as much desire
for the happiness of her husband as for that of Marian, but she felt
powerless to effect anything on either side.

'If ever she says anything, I'll let you