ut
civil questions to Mrs. Lessingham, for she was now assured that to
Miss Doran was attributable the alarming state of things between
Clifford and Madeline; Marsh would never have been so intractable but
for this new element in the situation. Madeline herself on the other
hand, was a model of magnanimity; in Clifford's very hearing, she spoke
of Cecily with tender concern, and then walked past her recreant
admirer with her fair head in a pose of conscious grace.

Even Mr. Musselwhite, at the close of the second day, grew aware that
the table lacked one of its ornaments. It was his habit now--a new
habit came as a blessing of Providence to Mr. Musselwhite--on passing
into the drawing-room after dinner, to glance towards a certain corner,
and, after slow, undecided "tackings," to settle in that direction.
There sat Barbara Denyer. Her study at present was one of the
less-known works of Silvio Pellico, and as Mr. Musselwhite approached,
she looked up with an air of absorption. He was wont to begin
conversation with the remark, flatteringly toned, "Reading Italian as
usual, Miss Denyer?" but this evening a new subject had been suggested
to him.

"I hope Miss Doran is not seriously unwell, Miss Denyer?"

"Oh, I think not."

Mr. Musselwhite reflected, stroking his whiskers in a gentlemanly way.

"One misses her," was his next remark.

"Yes, so much. She is so charming--don't you think, Mr. Musselwhite?"

"Very." He now plucked at the whiskers uneasily. "Oh yes, very."

Barbara smiled and turned her attention to the book, as though she
could spare no more time. Mr. Musselwhite, dimly feeling that this
topic demanded no further treatment, racked his brains for something
else to say. He was far towards Lincolnshire when a rustle of the pages
under Barbara's finger gave him a happy inspiration.

"I don't know whether you would care to see English papers now and
then, Miss Denyer? I always have quite a number. The _Field_, for
instance, and--"

"You are very kind, I don't read much English, but I shall be glad to
see anything you like to bring me."

Mrs. Denyer was not wholly without consolation in her troubles about
Clifford Marsh.

On the following morning, as she and her daughters were going out, they
came face to face with a gentleman who was announcing to the servant
his wish to see Miss Doran. Naturally they all glanced at him. Would he
be admitted? With much presence of mind, Madeline exclaimed,--

"Oh de