lt that he moved in a certain darkness, that both Lady
Sellingworth and Miss Van Tuyn had been unkind to him, had treated him
if not badly, at any rate in a way that was unfriendly, and, to him,
inexplicable. He did not want to seem hurt, but, on the other hand,
he did not feel that it was incumbent upon him to rush forward with
gracious eagerness, or to show any keen desire for the old, intimate
relations. So he just sat there trying not to look stiff, but not making
any effort to look charming and sympathetic.

"Have you seen Adela lately?" Miss Van Tuyn said at last, breaking the
silence.

"No," he said. "Not since the night when we met in the _Bella Napoli_."

"Oh, that's too bad!"

"Why too bad?"

"I thought you were such friends!"

"Scarcely that, I think," replied Craven, in his most definitely English
manner. "I like Lady Sellingworth very much, but she has swarms of
friends, and I can't expect her to bother very much about me."

"But I don't think she has swarms of friends."

"Perhaps nobody does. Still, she knows a tremendous number of people."

"I am sure she likes you," said Miss Van Tuyn. "Do go and see her
sometimes. I think--I think she would appreciate it."

"No doubt I shall see her again. Why not?"

"Don't you like her anymore?"

"Of course I do."

Suddenly she leaned forward, almost impulsively, and said:

"You remember I had a sort of cult for Adela?"

"Did you?"

"But you know I had! Well, I only want to tell you that it isn't a cult
now. I have got to know Adela better, to know her really. I used to
admire her as a great lady. Now I love her as a splendid woman. She's
rare. That is the word for her. Once--not long ago--I was talking to a
man who knows what people are. And he summed Adela up in a phrase. He
said she was a thoroughbred. We young ones--modern, I suppose we are--we
can learn something from her. I have learnt something. Isn't that an
admission? For the young generation to acknowledge that it has something
to learn from--from what are sometimes called the 'has beens'!"

Craven looked at her and noticed with surprise that her violet eyes were
clouded for a moment, as if some moisture had found its way into
them. Perhaps she saw that look of his. For she laughed, changed the
conversation, and from that moment talked in her usual lively way
about less intimate topics. But when Craven presently got up to go she
returned for a moment to her former more serious mood. As he