ingers downwards, not, I believe, with any intention of demonstrating
their whiteness, but solely because she had once done so, and the habit
remained. She wore several fine rings, and her hands were still pretty,
and--unlike the rest of her--younger than her age. They made a little
show with their sparkling diamonds, just catching the edge of the light
from John's shaded lamp. Her face by Dolly's help was in the shadow of
the green shade. "You will say so, Mr. Tatham, I know: here she is
again--without thinking how self-denying I have been, never to come,
never to ask a single question, for all these years."

"The loss is mine, Lady Mariamne," said John, gravely.

"It's very pretty of you to say that, isn't it, Dolly? One's old flirts
don't always show up so well." And here the lady gave a laugh, such as
had once been supposed to be one of Lady Mariamne's charms, but which
was rather like a giggle now--an antiquated giggle, which is much less
satisfactory than the genuine article. "How I used to worry you about
poor Phil, and that little spitfire of a Nell--and what a mess they have
made of it! I suppose you know what changes have happened in the family,
Mr. Tatham, since those days?"

"I heard indeed, with regret, Lady Mariamne, that you had lost a
brother----"

"A brother! two!" she cried. "Isn't it extraordinary--poor Hal, that was
the picture of health? How little one knows! He just went, don't you
know, without any one ever thinking he would go. Regg in India was
different--you expect that sort of thing when a man is in India. But
poor Hal! I told you Mr. Tatham wouldn't have heard of it, Dolly, not
being in our own set, don't you know."

"It was in all the papers," said Miss Dolly.

"Ah, well, you didn't notice it, I suppose: or perhaps you were away. I
always say it is of no use being married or dying or anything else in
September--your friends never hear of it. You will wonder that I am not
in black, but black was always very unbecoming to me, and dark grey is
just as good, and doesn't make one quite so ghastly. But the funny thing
is that now Phil--who looked as if he never could be in the running,
don't you know--is heir presumptive. Isn't it extraordinary? Two gone,
and Phil, that lived much faster than either of them, and at one time
kept up an awful pace, has seen them both out. And St. Serf has never
married. He won't now, though I have been at him on the subject for
years. He says, not if he knows