ct relations between the humorous "walk round," in which Miss
Montgomery usually made her first entrance, and the volume of Byron she
held in her hand, did not trouble Mr. Brimmer so much as the beautiful
arm with which she emphasized it. Neither did it strike him that the
distinguishing indications of a poetic exaltation were at all unlike the
effects of a grosser stimulant known as "Champagne cocktail" on the less
sensitive organization of her colleagues. Touched by her melancholy but
fascinating smile, he said gallantly that he had observed no sign of
exhaustion, or want of power in her performance that evening.

"Then you were there!" she said, fixing her eyes upon him with an
expression of mournful gratitude. "You actually left your business and
the calls of public duty to see the poor mountebank perform her nightly
task."

"I was there with a friend of yours," answered Brimmer soberly, "who
actually asked me to the supper to which Mr. Keene had already invited
me, and which YOU had been kind enough to suggest to me a week ago."

"True, I had forgotten," said Miss Montgomery, with a large goddess-like
indifference that was more effective with the man before her than the
most elaborate explanation. "You don't mind them--do you?--for we are
all friends together. My position, you know," she added sadly, "prevents
my always following my own inclinations or preferences. Poor Markham, I
fear the world does not do justice to his gentle, impressible nature.
I sympathize with him deeply; we have both had our afflictions, we have
both--lost. Good heavens!" she exclaimed, with a sudden exaggerated
start of horror, "what have I done? Forgive my want of tact, dear
friend; I had forgotten, wretched being that I am, that YOU, too"--

She caught his hand in both hers, and bowed her head over it as if
unable to finish her sentence.

Brimmer, who had been utterly mystified and amazed at this picture of
Markham's disconsolate attitude to the world, and particularly to the
woman before him, was completely finished by this later tribute to his
own affliction. His usually composed features, however, easily took upon
themselves a graver cast as he kept, and pressed, the warm hands in his
own.

"Fool that I was," continued Miss Montgomery; "in thinking of poor
Markham's childlike, open grief, I forgot the deeper sorrow that the
more manly heart experiences under an exterior that seems cold and
impassible. Yes," she said, raising her