s voice in this last
question; a subtle touch of mockery, so slight, so evanescent as to
leave one doubtful as to its ever having existed.

"Yes, yes, indeed," says Barbara, coloring.

"We flew so fast indeed that I am sure you are thoroughly fatigued,"
says Miss Kavanagh, addressing her. "Why don't you run away now, and
take off your bonnet and lay down for an hour or so?"

"But," begins Barbara, and then stops short. What does it all mean? this
new departure of her sister's puzzles her. To so deliberately ask for a
_tete-a-tete_ with Felix! To what end? The girl's manner, so bright,
filled with such a glittering geniality--so unlike the usual
listlessness that has characterized it for so long--both confuses and
alarms her. Why is she so amiable now? There has been a little
difficulty about getting her back at all, quite enough to make Mrs.
Monkton shiver for Dysart's reception by her, and here, now, half an
hour later, she is beaming upon him and being more than ordinarily
civil. What is she going to do?

"Oh! no 'buts,'" says Joyce gaily. "You know you said your head was
aching, and Mr. Dysart will excuse you. He will not be so badly off even
without you. He will have me!" She turns a full glance on Felix as she
says this, and looks at him with lustrous eyes and white teeth showing
through her parted lips. The _soupcon_ of mockery in her whole air, of
which all through he has been faintly but uncomfortably aware, has
deepened. "I shall take care he is not dull."

"But," says Barbara, again, rather helplessly.

"No, no. You must rest yourself. Remember we are going to that 'at
home,' at the Thesigers' to-night, and I would not miss it for anything.
Don't dwell with such sad looks on Mr. Dysart, I have promised to look
after him. You will let me take care of you for a little while, Mr.
Dysart, will you not?" turning another brilliant smile upon Felix, who
responds to it very gravely.

He is regarding her with a searching air. How is it with her? Some old
words recur to him:

"There is treachery, O Ahaziah!"

Why does she look at him like that? He mistrusts her present attitude.
Even that aggressive mood of hers at the Dore gallery on that last day
when they met was preferable to this agreeable but detestable
indifference.

"It is always a pleasure to be with you," says he steadily, perhaps a
little doggedly.

"There! you see!" says Joyce, with a pretty little nod at her sister.

"Well, I shall take