iling at him with her half-closed eyes.

And Gerald said that, yes, he would have expected that from her; and
with this dismissed the subject from his mind, taking it for granted
that Helen's disengaged, sustaining, and enlivening spinsterhood would
always be there for his solace and amusement.

CHAPTER VII.

Helen was on one side of her and Mr. Digby sat in an opposite corner of
the railway carriage, and they were approaching the end of the journey
to Merriston House on a bright July day soon after Althea's arrival in
England. She had met Mr. Digby at Helen's the day before and had
suggested that he should come with them. Gerald had remarked that it
might be tiresome if she hated Merriston, and he were there to see that
she hated it; but Althea was so sure of liking it that her conviction
imposed itself.

Mr. Digby and Helen were both smoking; they had asked her very
solicitously whether she minded, and she had said she didn't, although
in fact she did not like the smell of tobacco, and Helen's constant
cigarette distressed her quite unselfishly on the score of health. The
windows were wide open, and though the gale that blew through ruffled
her smooth hair and made her veil tickle disagreeably, these minor
discomforts could not spoil her predominant sense of excitement and
adventure. Mr. Digby's presence, particularly, roused it. He was so
long, so limp, so graceful, lounging there in his corner. His socks and
his tie were of such a charming shade of blue and his hair such a
charming shade of light mouse-colour. He was vague and blithe, immersed
in his own thoughts, which, apparently, were pleasant and superficial.
When his eyes met Althea's, he smiled at her, and she thought his smile
the most engaging she had ever seen. For the rest, he hardly spoke at
all, and did not seem to consider it incumbent on him to make any
conversational efforts, yet his mere presence lent festivity to the
occasion.

Helen did not talk much either; she smoked her cigarette and looked out
of the window with half-closed eyes. Her slender feet, encased in grey
shoes, were propped on the opposite seat; her grey travelling-dress hung
in smoke-like folds about her; in her little hat was a bright green
wing.

Althea wondered if Mr. Digby appreciated his cousin's appearance, or if
long brotherly familiarity had dimmed his perception of it. She wondered
how her own appearance struck him. She knew that she was very trim and
very ele