f the old has
survived, I will come to you."

He sighed.

"You alone," he said, "might work such a miracle."

"Then come and see me often," she said, with a brilliant smile, "and I
will try."

He moved his chair a little nearer to her.

"You encourage me to hope," he said. "I remember that one night in the
conservatory I was presumptuous enough--to take your hand. History
repeats itself, you see, and I claim the prize, for I have fulfilled the
condition."

She drew her hand away firmly, but without undue haste.

"If you are going to be frivolous," she said, "I will have all the
callers shown in. You know very well that that is not what I mean.
There must be some unpremeditated action, some impulse which comes from
your own heart. Frankly, Arranmore, there are times now when I am
afraid of you. You seem to have no heart--to be absolutely devoid of
feeling, to be cold and calculating even in your slightest actions.
There, now I have told you just what I feel sometimes, and it doesn't
sound nice, does it?"

"It sounds very true," he said, wearily. "Will you tell me where I can
buy a new heart and a fresh set of impulses, even a disposition,
perhaps? I'd be a customer. I'm willing enough."

"Never mind that," she said, softly. "After all, I have a certain
amount of faith. A miracle may happen at any moment."

Sybil came in, dressed in a fascinating short skirt and a toque. Her
maid on the threshold was carrying a small green baize box.

"I am going to Prince's, mother, just for an hour, with Mrs.
Huntingdon. How do you do, Lord Arranmore? You'll keep mother from
being dull, won't you?"

"It is your mother," he said, "who is making me dull."

"Poor old mummy," Sybil declared, cheerfully.

"Never mind. Her bark's a good deal worse than her bite. Good-bye,
both of you."

Lord Arranmore rose and closed the door after her.

"Sybil is a remarkably handsome young woman," he said. "Any signs of
her getting married yet?"

Lady Caroom shook her head.

"No! Arranmore, that reminds me, what has become of--Mr. Brooks?" Lord
Arranmore smiled a little bitterly. "He is in London."

"I have never seen him, you must remember, since that evening. Is he
still--unforgiving?

"Yes! He refuses to be acknowledged. He is taking the bare income
which is his by law--it comes from a settlement to the eldest son--and
he is studying practical philanthropy in the slums."

"I am sorry," she said. "I like him, and he would be a