who was looking at a picture in the corner of the room,
did not see him; nor, indeed, did Angela. The look was unmistakable,
and once more the dark frown settled upon Lady Bellamy's brow, and the
expanding pupils filled the heavy-lidded eyes. As for Arthur, it made
him feel sick with unreasonable alarm.

Next minute George entered the room with a stupid smile upon his face,
and looking as dazed as a bat that has suddenly been shown the sun.
Angela's heaven-lit beauty had come upon his gross mind as a
revelation; it fascinated him, he had lost his command over himself.

"Oh! here you are at last, George," said Lady Bellamy--it was always
her habit to call him George. "We have all been like sheep without a
shepherd, though I saw you keeping an eye on the flock through the
window."

George started. He did not know that he had been observed.

"I did not know that you were all here, or I would have been back
sooner," he said, and then began to shake hands.

When he came to Angela, he favoured her with a tender pressure of the
fingers and an elaborate and high-flown speech of welcome, both of
which were inexpressibly disagreeable to her. But here Lady Bellamy
intervened, and skilfully forced him into a conversation with her, in
which Philip joined.

"What does Lady Bellamy remind you of?" Angela asked Arthur, as soon
as the hum of talk made it improbable that they would be overheard.

"Of an Egyptian sorceress, I think. Look at the low, broad forehead,
the curling hair, the full lips, and the inscrutable look of the
face."

"To my mind she is an ideal of the Spirit of Power. I am very much
afraid of her, and, as for him"--nodding towards George--"I dislike
him even more than I was prepared to," and she gave a little shudder.
"By the way, Mr. Heigham, you really must not be so rash as to accept
my father's invitation."

"If you do not wish to see me, of course I will not," he answered, in
a hurt and disappointed tone.

"Oh! it is not that, indeed; how could you think so, when only this
morning we agreed to be friends?"

"Well, what is it, then?" he asked, blankly.

"Why, Mr. Heigham, the fact is that we--that is, my old nurse and I,
for my father is irregular in his meals, and always takes them by
himself--live so very plainly, and I am ashamed to ask you to share
our mode of life. For instance, we have nothing but bread and milk for
breakfast;" and the golden head sunk in some confusion before his
amused gaze.