nstantly
varied; at one time he did not conceal his craving for sympathy, at
another he was frigid and almost repellent. Lettice still did not know
whether she liked or disliked him. But she was now piqued as well as
interested, and so it happened that Mr. Walcott began to occupy more of
her thoughts than she was altogether willing to devote to him.

So far, all their meetings were in public. They had never exchanged a
word that the world might not hear. They saw each other at the Grahams'
dinner-parties, at Mrs. Hartley's Sunday afternoon "at homes," and at
one or two other houses. To meet a dozen times in a London season
constitutes intimacy. Although they talked chiefly of books, sometimes
of men and women, and never of themselves, Lettice began to feel that a
confidential tone was creeping into their intercourse--that she
criticized his poems with extraordinary freedom, and argued her opinions
with him in a way that would certainly have staggered her brother Sydney
if he had heard her. But in all this friendly talk, the personal note
had never once been struck. He told her nothing of his inner self, of
his past life, or his dreams for the future. All that they said might
have been said to each other on their first meeting in Mrs. Hartley's
drawing-room. It seemed as if some vague impalpable barrier had been
erected between them, and Lettice puzzled herself from time to time to
know how this barrier had been set up.

Sometimes--she did not know why--she was disposed to associate it with
the presence of Brooke Dalton. That gentleman continued to display his
usual lack of brilliance in conversation, together with much
good-heartedness, soundness of judgment, and thoughtfulness for others;
and in spite of his slowness of speech Lettice liked him very much. But
why would he persist in establishing himself within earshot when Alan
was talking to her? If they absolutely eluded him, he betrayed
uneasiness, like that of a faithful dog who sees his beloved mistress in
some danger. He did not often interrupt the conversation. He sat silent
for the most part, unconsciously throwing a wet blanket over both
speakers, and sometimes sending Walcott away in a state of almost
irrepressible irritation. And yet he seemed to be on good terms with
Alan. They spoke to each other as men who had been acquaintances, if not
friends, for a good number of years; and he never made an allusion to
Alan, in his absence, which could in the least be