type did not attract him greatly; but it was just as well to study
so perfect a specimen when he had one at hand; he wanted to introduce a
girl of this sort into his next novel, and he preferred portraiture to
mere invention. He would keep the novel in mind when he talked to her;
it would perhaps prevent any dwelling on unpleasant subjects--for, oh,
how like the girl's eyes were to those of her dear father!

So he sat by the piano after dinner while Enid played dreamy melodies,
that soothed the General into slumber, and then he persuaded her to walk
with him in the moonlight on the terrace, and talked to her of his
strange adventures in foreign lands until the child thought that she had
never heard anything half so wonderful before. And, as they passed and
repassed the windows, they were watched by Florence Vane with eyes that
gleamed beneath her heavy eyelids, with the narrow intentness of the
emerald orbs belonging to her favorite white cat. She had never looked
more as if she were silently following some malevolent design, than when
she watched the couple on the terrace on that moonlit night.

Enid very quickly made friends with Mr. Lepel--so quickly indeed that
she was led to confide some of her most private opinions to him before
he had been much more than twenty-four hours at Beechfield Hall. It was
anent little Dick and his mother that the first confidence took place.

The whole party had been having tea under the great beech-tree on the
lawn, and after a time Enid and Hubert were left alone by the others.
They chatted gaily together, he answering her eager questions about
London and Paris and Berlin, she catechising him with an eagerness which
amused and interested him. Presently they saw Dick running towards them
across the lawn. A white figure at one of the windows on the terrace, a
call to the boy, and Dick's wild career was arrested. He stood still for
a moment, then turned slowly towards the house, breaking into a childish
wail of grief as he did so. Hubert stopped short in the sentence that he
was addressing to his young cousin, and looked after the boy.

"What is the matter with the poor little chap?" he asked.

Enid's eyes were fixed anxiously upon the window where the white figure
had appeared.

"Florence called him," she said, in a very small voice.

"And why should the fact of his mother's calling him make him cry?"

"Florence thinks it best to be strict," said Enid, still with unnatural
firmne