him."

"Then, did he never--" Whatever Lucia was going to say she thought
better of it.

She did not see him till the next night, after dinner, when he came to
her as she was sitting in a corner of the back drawing-room alone. And
as he came, she looked at him with a curiously intent yet baffled
gaze, as if trying to fit a present impression to one past. And yet
she could hardly have had any difficulty in recognizing him; for his
face was unforgettable, unique; but she missed something in it which
used to be familiar. And now she saw that what she had missed was the
restless look of youth; the sensuous eagerness that had helped to make
it so irregular. It had settled into the other look that she had found
there more rarely; the look that strengthened and refined the mobile
features, and brought them into harmony with the clean prominent lines
of the chin and of the serious level brows. Of all his looks it was
the one that she used to like best.

"So you've come back again?" he said.

"But I never was away."

"I thought you were abroad?"

"Who told you that?"

"I don't know. I suppose I must have dreamt it."

"I think you must. I've been in town for the last six weeks."

"In town?"

"Yes, if Hampstead's town. I've been staying with the Jewdwines.
Didn't he tell you?"

"No, he never told me anything."

She was silent for a moment. "So _that's_ why you never came to see
me."

"To see you? I didn't know--and if I had I shouldn't have thought--"
He hesitated.

"Of what? Of coming to see me?"

"No, that you would have cared for me to come."

"I think that's not a thing you ought to say. Of course I cared."

"Well, but I couldn't take that for granted, could I?"

"Couldn't you? Not after the messages I sent you?"

"But I never got any messages."

"Didn't you?" Her upper lip quivered; it was as if she winced at some
thought that struck her like a blow. "Then my cousin must have
forgotten to give them to you. Just like him; he is shockingly
careless."

Now Rickman knew it was not just like him; Jewdwine was not careless,
he was in all things painfully meticulous; and he never forgot.

"I don't think I can forgive him for that."

"You must forgive him. He is overwhelmed with work. And he isn't
really as thoughtless as you might suppose. He has given me news of
you regularly. You can't think how glad I was to hear you were getting
on so well. As for the latest news of all--" She lifted her face and