ou speak of, well, they
are all very gay--it is I only who have bidden them, who reap no profit.
For whosoever may sit there the chair at my side is always empty."

"You speak sadly," she said, "and yet--"

"Yet what?"

"To hear you talk, Arranmore, with any real feeling about anything is
always a relief," she said. "Sometimes you speak and act as though
every emotion which had ever filled your life were dead, as though you
were indeed but the shadow of your former self. Even to know that you
feel pain is better than to believe you void of any feeling whatever."

"Then you may rest content," he told her quietly, "for I can assure you
that pain and I are old friends and close companions."

"You have so much, too, which should make you happy--which should keep
you employed and amused," she said, softly.

"'Employed and amused.'" His eyes flashed upon her with a gleam of
something very much like anger. "It pleases you to mock me!"

"Indeed no!" she protested. "You must not say such things to me."

"Then remember," he said, bitterly, "that sympathy from you comes always
very near to mockery. It is you and you alone who can unlock the door
for me. You show me the key--but you will not use it."

A belated caller straggled in, and Arranmore took his leave. Lady
Caroom for the rest of the afternoon was a little absent. She gave her
visitors cold tea, and seriously imperiled her reputation as a charming
and sympathetic hostess.

CHAPTER III

THE SINGULAR BEHAVIOUR OF MARY SCOTT

The looking-glass was, perhaps, a little merciless in that clear north
light, but Mary's sigh as she looked away from it was certainly
unwarranted. For, as a matter of fact, she had improved wonderfully
since her coming to London. A certain angularity of figure had
vanished--the fashionable clothes which Mr. Bullsom had insisted upon
ordering for her did ample justice to her graceful curves and lithe
buoyant figure. The pallor of her cheeks, too, which she had eyed just
now with so much dissatisfaction, was far removed from the pallor of
ill-health; her mouth, which had lost its discontented droop, was full
of pleasant suggestions of humour. She was distinctly a very charming
and attractive young woman--and yet she turned away with a sigh. She
was twenty-seven years old, and she had been unconsciously comparing
herself with a girl of eighteen.

She drew down one of the blinds and set the tea-tray where she could sit
in the shadow. She