ever
referred to Mutimer otherwise than by this name--'spoke of the seaside
the other day, but we decided not to go away at all. There is so much to
be done.'

When Adela went to the drawing-room just before luncheon, she found
Alice Mutimer engaged with a novel. Reading novels had become an
absorbing occupation with Alice. She took them to bed with her so as
to read late, and lay late in the morning for the same reason. She must
have been one of Mr. Mudie's most diligent subscribers. She had no taste
for walking in the country, and could only occasionally be persuaded
to take a drive. It was not surprising that her face had not quite the
healthy colour of a year ago; there was negligence, too, in her dress,
and she had grown addicted to recumbent attitudes. Between her and Adela
no semblance of friendship had yet arisen, though the latter frequently
sought to substitute a nearer relation for superficial friendliness.
Alice never exhibited anything short of good-will, but her first
impressions were lasting; she suspected her sister-in-law of a desire to
patronise, and was determined to allow nothing of the kind. With a more
decided character, Alice's prepossessions would certainly have made life
at the Manor anything but smooth; as it was, nothing ever occurred to
make unpleasantness worth her while. Besides, when not buried in
her novels, she gave herself up to absentmindedness; Adela found
conversation with her almost impossible, for Alice would answer a remark
with a smiling 'Yes' or 'No,' and at once go off into dreamland, so that
one hesitated to disturb her.

'What time is it?' she inquired, when she became aware of Adela moving
about the room.

'All but half-past one.'

'Really? I suppose I must go and get ready for lunch. What a pity we
can't do without meals!'

'You should go out in the morning and get an appetite. Really, you are
getting very pale, Alice. I'm sure you read far too much.'

Adela had it on her lips to say 'too many novels,' but was afraid to
administer a direct rebuke.

'Oh, I like reading, and I don't care a bit for going out.'

'What about your practising?' Adela asked, with a playful shake of the
head.

'Yes, I know it's very neglectful, but really it is such awful work.'

'And your French?'

'I'll make a beginning to-morrow. At least, I think I will. I don't
neglect things wilfully, but it's so awfully hard to really get at it
when the time comes.'

The luncheon-bell rang, a