esentful stand-off, nay, as nearly rude as a girl
under the restraints of modern manners can manage to be. He almost
laughed as he recalled Helen's report of her interview with Rose that
morning, in which she had tried to persuade a young person outrageously
on her dignity to keep an engagement she had herself spontaneously made.

'I am very sorry, Lady Helen,' Rose had said, her slim figure drawn up
so stiffly that the small Lady Helen felt herself totally effaced beside
her. 'But I had rather not leave London this week. I think I will stay
with mamma and Agnes.'

And nothing Lady Helen could say moved her, or modified her formula of
refusal.

'What _have_ you been doing, Hugh?' his sister asked him, half dismayed,
half provoked.

Flaxman shrugged his shoulders and vowed he had been doing nothing. But,
in truth, he knew very well that the day before he had overstepped the
line. There had been a little scene between them, a quick passage of
speech, a rash look and gesture on his part, which had been quite
unpremeditated, but which had nevertheless transformed their relation.
Rose had flushed up, had said a few incoherent words, which he had
understood to be words of reproach, had left Lady Helen's as quickly as
possible, and next morning his Greenlaws party had fallen through.

'Check, certainly,' said Flaxman to himself ruefully, as he pondered
these circumstances--'not mate, I hope, if one can but find out how not
to be a fool in future.'

And over his solitary fire he meditated far into the night.

Next day, at half-past seven in the evening, he entered Lady Charlotte's
drawing-room, gayer, brisker, more alert than ever.

Rose started visibly at the sight of him, and shot a quick glance at the
unblushing Lady Charlotte.

'I thought you were at Greenlaws,' she could not help saying to him, as
she coldly offered him her hand. _Why_ had Lady Charlotte never told her
he was to escort them? Her irritation rose anew.

'What can one do,' he said lightly, 'if Elsmere will fix such a
performance for Easter Eve? My party was at its last gasp too; it only
wanted a telegram to Helen to give it its _coup de grace_.'

Rose flushed up, but he turned on his heel at once, and began to banter
his aunt on the housekeeper's bonnet and veil in which she had a little
too obviously disguised herself.

And certainly, in the drive to the East End, Rose had no reason to
complain of importunity on his part. Most of the way he was