st come and tell some one."

Edwin had never seen her so moved. Her emotion was touching, it was
beautiful. She need not have said that she had come because she must.
The fact was in her rapt eyes. She was under a spell.

"Well, I must go!" she said, with a curious brusqueness. Perhaps she
had a dim perception that she was behaving in a manner unusual with her.
"You'll tell your sister."

Her departing bow to Mrs Hamps had the formality of courts, and was
equalled by Mrs Hamps's bow. Just as Mrs Hamps, having re-created her
elaborate smile, was allowing it finally to expire, she had to bring it
into existence once more, and very suddenly, for Janet returned to the
wall.

"You won't forget tennis after tea," said Janet shortly.

Edwin said that he should not.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO.

"Well, well!" Mrs Hamps commented, and sat down in the wicker-chair of
Darius.

"I wonder she doesn't get married herself," said Edwin idly, having
nothing in particular to remark.

"You're a nice one to say such a thing!" Mrs Hamps exclaimed.

"Why?"

"Well, you really are!" She raised the structure of her bonnet and
curls, and shook it slowly at him. And her gaze had an extraordinary
quality of fleshly naughtiness that half pleased and half annoyed him.

"Why?" he repeated.

"Well," she said again, "you aren't a ninny, and you aren't a simpleton.
At least I hope not. You must know as well as anybody the name of the
young gentleman that she's waiting for."

In spite of himself, Edwin blushed: he blushed more and more. Then he
scowled.

"What nonsense!" he muttered viciously. He was entirely sincere. The
notion that Janet was waiting for him had never once crossed his mind.
It seemed to him fantastic, one of those silly ideas that a woman such
as Auntie Hamps would be likely to have, or more accurately would be
likely to pretend to have. Still, it did just happen that on this
occasion his auntie's expression was more convincing than usual. She
seemed more human than usual, to have abandoned, at any rate partially,
the baffling garment of effusive insincerity in which she hid her soul.
The Eve in her seemed to show herself, and, looking forth from her eyes,
to admit that the youthful dalliance of the sexes was alone interesting
in this life of strict piety. The revelation was uncanny.

"You needn't talk like that," she retorted calmly, "unless you wa