sillusioned, while,
in good truth, sentiment had more than a word to say in most of his
opinions and decisions. Now sentiment ruled him strongly and pushed
him--but, unfortunately, in diametrically opposite directions. The
sentiment of friendship compelled him hitherward. While another
sentiment, which he refused to define--he recognised it as wholesome,
yet he was a trifle ashamed of it--compelled him quite other-where. He
took refuge in an adroit begging of the question.

"After all are you not committing the fundamental error of reckoning
without your host, Louisa?" he inquired. "Connie may be a good deal
occupied about Calmady, but thereby may only give further proof of her
own silliness. I certainly discovered no particular sign of Calmady
being occupied about Connie. He was very much more occupied about the
fair cousin, Helen de Vallorbes, than about any one of us, my
illustrious self included, as far as I could see."

In her secret soul his hearer had to own this statement just. But she
kept the owning to herself, and, with a rapidity upon which she could
not help congratulating herself, instituted a flanking movement.

"You hear all the gossip, Ludovic," she said. "Of course it is no good
my asking Mr. Barking about that sort of thing. Even if he heard it he
would not remember it. His mind is too much occupied. If a woman
marries a man with large political interests she must just give herself
to them generously. It is very interesting, and one feels, of course,
one is helping to make history. But still one has to sacrifice
something. I hear next to nothing of what is going on--the gossip, I
mean. And so tell me, what do you hear about her, about Madame de
Vallorbes?"

"At first hand only that which you must know perfectly well yourself,
my dear Louisa. Didn't you sit opposite to her at luncheon,
yesterday?--That she is a vastly good-looking and attractive woman."

"At second hand, then?"

"At second hand? Oh! at second hand I know various amiable little odds
and ends such as are commonly reported by the uncharitable and
censorious," Ludovic answered mildly. "Probably more than half of these
little treasures are pure fiction, generated by envy, conceived by
malice."

"Pray, Ludovic!" his sister exclaimed. But she recovered herself, and
added:--"you may as well tell me all the same. I think, under the
circumstances, it would be better for me to hear."

"You really wish to hear? Well, I give it you for wh