d be quite ready to tell or
invent malicious stories of the girl they were now flattering, and whose
standards and instincts represented a coarser world than Rose in reality
knew anything about.

Her eyes followed his.

'I know,' she said, petulantly, 'that you dislike artists. They are not
your world. They are mine.'

'I dislike artists? What nonsense, too! To me personally these men's
ways don't matter in the least. They go their road and I mine. But I
deeply resent any danger of discomfort and annoyance to you!'

He still stood frowning, a glow of indignant energy showing itself in
his attitude, his glance. She could not know that he was at that moment
vividly realizing the drunken scene that might have taken place in her
presence if he had not succeeded in getting the man safely out of the
house. But she felt that he was angry, and mostly angry with her, and
there was something so piquant and unexpected in his anger!

'I am afraid,' she said, with a queer sudden submissiveness, 'you have
been going through something very disagreeable. I am very sorry. Is
it my fault?' she added, with a whimsical flash of eye, half fun, half
serious.

He could hardly believe his ears.

'Yes, it is your fault, I think!' he answered her, amazed at his
own boldness. 'Not that _I_ was annoyed--Heavens! what does that
matter?--but that you and your mother and sister were very near an
unpleasant scene. You will not take advice, Miss Leyburn, you will take
your own way in spite of what anyone else can say or hint to you, and
some day you will expose yourself to annoyance when there is no one near
to protect you!'

'Well, if so, it won't be for want of a mentor,' she said, dropping him
a mock courtesy. But her lips trembled under its smile, and her tone had
not lost its gentleness.

At this moment Mr. Flaxman, who had gradually established himself as the
joint leader of these musical afternoons, came forward to summon Rose
to a quartet. He looked from one to the other, a little surprise
penetrating through his suavity of manner.

'Am I interrupting you?'

'Not at all,' said Rose; then, turning back to Langham, she said, in a
hurried whisper: 'Don't say anything about the wretched man: it would
make mamma nervous. He shan't come here again.'

Mr. Flaxman waited till the whisper was over, and then led her off, with
a change of manner which she immediately perceived, and which lasted for
the rest of the evening.

Langham went