slowly down the broad hail, the lights striking iridescent rays from the
trimmings of her dress. The long train, adding to her height, enhanced
her gracefulness. Only that curious deadness of sensation of which he
had been aware all day--the inability to feel any more that comes from
too much suffering--enabled him to keep his ground before her. He did
keep it, advancing from the doorway two or three steps toward her, till
they met at the foot of the stairway.

"Have you enjoyed your evening?" were the words he found himself saying,
though they were far from those he had at heart. He felt that his smile
was ghastly; but, as she seemed not to perceive it, he drew the
conclusion that the ghastliness was within.

She answered languidly. "Yes, so so. It might have been pleasanter if it
hadn't been for that awful man."

"Who? Young Davenant? I don't see anything awful about him."

"I dare say there isn't, really--in his place. He may be only prosy.
However," she added, more brightly, "it doesn't matter for once. Good
night, papa dear. You look tired. You ought to go to bed. I've seen to
the windows in the drawing-room, but I haven't put out the lights."

Having kissed him and patted him on the cheek, she turned to go up the
stairway. He allowed her to ascend a step or two. It was the minute to
speak.

"I'm sorry you feel that way about young Davenant. I rather like him."

He had not chosen the words. They came out automatically. To discuss
Davenant offered an excuse for detaining her, while postponing the blow
for a few minutes more.

"Oh, men would," she said, indifferently, without turning round. "He's
their style."

"Which is to his discredit?"

"Not to his discredit, but to his disadvantage. I've noticed that what
they call a man's man is generally something of a bore."

"Davenant isn't a bore."

"Isn't he? Well, I really didn't notice in particular. I only remember
that he used to be about here years ago--and I didn't like him. I
suppose Drusilla has to be civil to him because he was Cousin Rodney's
ward."

She had paused on the landing at the angle of the staircase.

"He's good-looking," Guion said, in continued effort to interpose the
trivial between himself and what he had still to tell her.

"Oh, that sort of Saxon giant type is always good-looking. Of course.
And dull too."

"I dare say he isn't as dull as you think."

"He might be that, and still remain pretty dull, after the allowances
had