es, which in reality burnt at the man's heart. A deep
disdain for what had always seemed to him the cheapest form of
self-advertisement, held him back. It was this dryness, combined with an
amazing disinterestedness, which had so far stood in his way.

Wharton repeated the address, following it up by some rather curt
directions as to the length and date of articles, to which Craven gave
the minutest attention.

"May we come in?" said Marcella's voice.

"By all means," said Wharton, with a complete change of tone. "Business
is up and I am off!"

He took up his hat as he spoke.

"Not at all! Tea is just coming, without which no guest departs," said
Marcella, taking as she spoke a little tray from the red-haired Daisy
who followed her, and motioning to the child to bring the tea-table.

Wharton looked at her irresolute. He had spent half an hour with her
_tete-a-tete_ before Louis Craven arrived, and he was really due at the
House. But now that she was on the scene again, he did not find it so
easy to go away. How astonishingly beautiful she was, even in this
disguise! She wore her nurse's dress; for her second daily round began
at half-past four, and her cloak, bonnet, and bag were lying ready on a
chair beside her. The dress was plain brown holland, with collar and
armlets of white linen; but, to Wharton's eye, the dark Italian head,
and the long slenderness of form had never shown more finely. He
hesitated and stayed.

"All well?" said Marcella, in a half whisper, as she passed Louis Craven
on her way to get some cake.

He nodded and smiled, and she went back to the tea-table with an eye all
gaiety, pleased with herself and everybody else.

The quarter of an hour that followed went agreeably enough. Wharton sat
among the little group, far too clever to patronise a cat, let alone a
Venturist, but none the less master and conscious master of the
occasion, because it suited him to take the airs of equality. Craven
said little, but as he lounged in Marcella's long cane chair with his
arms behind his head, his serene and hazy air showed him contented; and
Marcella talked and laughed with the animation that belongs to one whose
plots for improving the universe have at least temporarily succeeded.
Or did it betray, perhaps, a woman's secret consciousness of some
presence beside her, more troubling and magnetic to her than others?

"Well then, Friday," said Wharton at last, when his time was more than
spent.--"You m