of leaving the room, and was called back to
my chair. "This is not a private interview, Helena; stay where you are."

Philip came in--handsomer than ever, beautifully dressed--and paid his
respects to my father with his customary grace. He was too well-bred
to allow any visible signs of embarrassment to escape him. But when he
shook hands with me, I felt a little trembling in his fingers, through
the delicate gloves which fitted him like a second skin. Was it the
true object of his visit to try the experiment designed by Eunice
and himself, and deferred by the postponement of our dinner-party?
Impossible surely that my sister could have practiced on his weakness,
and persuaded him to return to his first love! I waited, in breathless
interest, for his next words. They were not worth listening to. Oh, the
poor commonplace creature!

"I am glad, Mr. Gracedieu, to see that you are well enough to be in your
study again," he said. The writing materials on the table attracted his
attention. "Am I one of the idle people," he asked, with his charming
smile, "who are always interrupting useful employment?"

He spoke to my father, and he was answered by my father. Not once had
he addressed a word to me--no, not even when we shook hands. I was
angry enough to force him into taking some notice of me, and to make an
attempt to confuse him at the same time.

"Have you seen my sister?" I asked.

"No."

It was the shortest reply that he could choose. Having flung it at me,
he still persisted in looking at my father and speaking to my father:
"Do you think of trying change of air, Mr. Gracedieu, when you feel
strong enough to travel?"

"My duties keep me here," father answered; "and I cannot honestly say
that I enjoy traveling. I dislike manners and customs that are strange
to me; I don't find that hotels reward me for giving up the comforts of
my own house. How do you find the hotel here?"

"I submit to the hotel, sir. They are sad savages in the kitchen; they
put mushroom ketchup into their soup, and mustard and cayenne pepper
into their salads. I am half-starved at dinner-time, but I don't
complain."

Every word he said was an offense to me. With or without reason, I
attacked him again.

"I have heard you acknowledge that the landlord and landlady are very
obliging people," I said. "Why don't you ask them to let you make your
own soup and mix your own salad?"

I wondered whether I should succeed in attracting his notice,