time her eye was caught by
the flashing of the jewelled pendulum of the clock on the mantel, in
the drawing-room across the hall, and her mind dwelt ironically on
some lines she had read somewhere:--

"Ah! who with clear account remarks
The ebbing of Time's glass,
When all his sands are diamond sparks
That dazzle as they pass!"

She smiled a derisive little smile, all to herself, as she thought how
small a power lay in jewelled pendulums to make a brilliant evening,
and she felt a certain thrill of pride at the thought that her
associations lay in a world removed from all this smothering
materialism. The lavish sumptuousness which till now had appealed to
her rather strongly, seemed suddenly tainted with vulgarity, and her
thoughts wandered half unconsciously to the bare little room where she
had gone to see Nora Costello. The name brought a slight quickening of
her pulses, and she wanted time to think over things alone.

As the men came in from the dining-room Miss Anstice's carriage was
announced, and she rose to bid her hostess good-night.

"Must you run away so early, my dear?"

"Thank you, yes; I promised Papa to come home early. He likes to see
me before he goes to bed, and to hear an account of my evening."

"You will be at home at five to-morrow, and I may bring Captain
Blathwayt?"

"Any friend of yours, of course," murmured Winifred, in a tone which
could hardly have proved encouraging to the vanity or incipient
sentiment of the guardsman.

"If you will permit me," said Flint to Graham as Winifred came down
the stairs, "I will put Miss Anstice into her carriage, and then come
back for that last cigar."

Never in his life had Flint so raved against his own lack of readiness
as now, when he felt the passing moments slipping by, and could find
no words to set himself right in the eyes of the woman he loved,--the
woman whose little gloved hand rested on his arm. Judge then of his
feeling when, smiling up into his eyes with perfect friendliness,
Winifred said under her breath, "Why do we go there--you and I? They
really aren't our kind at all."

The remark carried with it full assurance that no words uttered by
Hartington Graham had power to shake for an instant her faith in the
man whom she had called her friend; but beyond that her confident use
of the word _our_, as if their interests and associations were the
same, thrilled him with a sort of intoxication.

"Oh, thank