the secret workings of his mind; she alone had
any true idea of what it had cost him to give Elizabeth up. He took a
great deal of pleasure in dissecting his own character, and it soothed
and flattered him that she should listen with so much interest. He was
always in a better temper when he had been talking to Angela. He did
most of the talking--it must be owned that he liked to hear himself
talk--and she made a perfect listener. He, in turn, amused and
interested her very much. She had never come across a man of his type
before. His trenchant criticisms of literature, his keen delight in
politics, his lively argumentativeness, were charming to her. He had
always had the knack of quarrelling with Elizabeth, even when he was
most devoted to her; but he did not quarrel with Angela. She quieted
him; he hardly knew how to be irritable in her presence.

The story of Kitty's marriage excited his deepest ire. He was indignant
with his sister, disgusted with Hugo Luttrell. He himself told it, with
some rather strong expressions of anger, to Brian, who listened in
perfect silence.

"What can you say for your cousin?" said Percival, turning upon him
fiercely. "What sort of a fellow is he? Do you consider him fit to marry
my sister?"

"No, I don't," Brian answered. "I am sorry to say so, but I don't think
Hugo is in the least to be relied on. I have been fond of him, but----"

"A screw loose somewhere, is there? I thought as much."

"He may do better now that he is married," said Brian. But he felt that
it was poor comfort.

They went straight back to England, and it was curious to observe how
naturally and continuously a certain division of the party was always
taking place. Brian and Elizabeth were, of course, a great deal
together; it seemed equally inevitable that Percival should pair off
with Angela, and that Mrs. Norman, Rupert Vivian, and Mr. Fane should be
left to entertain each other.

It was on the last day of the voyage that Brian sought out Percival and
took him by the arm. "Look here, Heron," he said. "I have never thanked
you for what you have done for me."

Percival was smoking. He took his pipe out of his mouth, and said,
"Don't," very curtly, and then replaced the meerschaum, and puffed at it
energetically.

"But I must."

"Stop," said Heron. "Don't go on till you've heard me speak." He took
his pipe in his hand and knocked it meditatively against the bulwarks.
"There's a great deal that might be sai