at through with a growing gloom, in spite of the
pretty faces and graceful dances which have now, with some rare
exceptions, made plot and humour so unnecessary. Each leading member
of the clever company danced his or her special _pas seul_ as if for a
competitive examination, but left him unthrilled amidst all the
enthusiasm that thundered from most parts of the house. It is true
that there were faces there--and young men's faces--quite as solemn as
his own, but then theirs was the solemnity of an enjoyment too deep
for expression, while Mark's face was blank from a depression he could
not shake off.

He went away at the end of the second act with a confused recollection
of glowing groups of silk-clad figures, forming up into a tableau for
no obvious dramatic reason, and, thinking it better to face his family
before the morning, went straight home to Malakoff Terrace. He could
not help a slight nervousness as he opened the gate and went up the
narrow path of flagstones. The lower window was dark, but there were
no lights in the upper rooms, so that he guessed that the family had
not retired. Mrs. Ashburn was entirely opposed to the latch-key as a
domestic implement, and had sternly refused to allow such a thing to
pass her threshold, so that Mark refrained from making use of the
key--which of course he had--in all cases where it was not absolutely
necessary, and he knocked and rang now.

Trixie came to the door and let him in. 'They've sent Ann to bed,' she
whispered, 'but ma and pa are sitting up for you.'

'Are they though?' said Mark grimly, as he hung up his hat.

'Yes,' said Trixie; 'come in here for a minute, Mark, while I tell you
all about it. Uncle Solomon has been here this afternoon and stayed to
dinner and he's been saying, oh, such dreadful things about you. Why
weren't you here?'

'I thought I should enjoy my dinner more if I dined out,' said Mark.
'Well, and what's the end of it all, Trixie?'

'I'm sure I don't know what it will be. Uncle Solomon actually wanted
me to come and live with him at Chigbourne, and said he would make it
worth my while in the end, if I would promise not to have anything
more to do with you.'

'Ah, and when are you going?' said Mark, with a cynicism that was only
on the surface.

'When!' said Trixie indignantly, 'why, never. Horrid old man! As if I
cared about his money! I told him what I thought about things, and I
think I made him angrier. I hope so, I'm sure.'

'D