nd flashing down at men with purposed
malevolence. The great sighing trees even had caught this spirit, save
one, a dark, spire-like cypress, planted three hundred and fifty years
before, whose tall form incarnated the very spirit of tradition, and
neither swayed nor soughed like the others. From her, too close-fibred,
too resisting, to admit the breath of Nature, only a dry rustle came.
Still almost exotic, in spite of her centuries of sojourn, and now
brought to life by the eyes of night, she seemed almost terrifying, in
her narrow, spear-like austerity, as though something had dried and died
within her soul. Barbara came back from the window.

"We can't do anything in our lives, it seems to me," she said, "but play
at taking risks!"

Lord Dennis replied dryly:

"I don't think I understand, my dear."

"Look at Mr. Courtier!" muttered Barbara. "His life's so much more risky
altogether than any of our men folk lead. And yet they sneer at him."

"Let's see, what has he done?"

"Oh! I dare say not very much; but it's all neck or nothing. But what
does anything matter to Harbinger, for instance? If his Social Reform
comes to nothing, he'll still be Harbinger, with fifty thousand a year."

Lord Dennis looked up a little queerly.

"What! Is it possible you don't take the young man seriously, Babs?"

Barbara shrugged; a strap slipped a little off one white shoulder.

"It's all play really; and he knows it--you can tell that from his voice.
He can't help its not mattering, of course; and he knows that too."

"I have heard that he's after you, Babs; is that true?"

"He hasn't caught me yet."

"Will he?"

Barbara's answer was another shrug; and, for all their statuesque beauty,
the movement of her shoulders was like the shrug of a little girl in her
pinafore.

"And this Mr. Courtier," said Lord Dennis dryly: "Are you after him?"

"I'm after everything; didn't you know that, dear?"

"In reason, my child."

"In reason, of course--like poor Eusty!" She stopped. Harbinger himself
was standing there close by, with an air as nearly approaching reverence
as was ever to be seen on him. In truth, the way in which he was looking
at her was almost timorous.

"Will you sing that song I like so much, Lady Babs?"

They moved away together; and Lord Dennis, gazing after that magnificent
young couple, stroked his beard gravely.

CHAPTER X

Miltoun's sudden journey to London had been undertaken in purs