rnoon?'

Lord Findon stared.

'Fenwick? What on earth does he write to you about?'

'Oh! this is not the first time by a long way!' said Eugenie, smiling.
'He began it in March, when he thought he had offended me--by being
rude to Arthur.'

'So he was--abominably rude. But what can one expect? He hasn't had
the bringing-up of a gentleman--and there you are. That kind of thing
will out.'

'I wonder whether it matters--to a genius?' said Eugenie, musing.

'It matters to everybody!' cried Lord Findon. 'Gentlefolk, my dear,
say what you will, are the result of a long natural selection--and you
can't make 'em in a hurry.'

'And what about genius? You will admit, papa, that a good many
gentlefolk in the world go to one genius!'

The light was still good enough to show Lord Findon that, in spite of
her flicker of gaiety, Eugenie was singularly pale. And he knew
well that they were both listening for the same step on the stairs.
However, he tried to keep it up.

'Genius?' he said, humming and hawing--'genius? How do we know what it
is--or who has it? Everybody's so diabolically clever nowadays. Take
my advice, Eugenie--I know you want to play Providence to that young
fellow--you think you'll civilise him, and that kind of thing; but I
warn you--he hasn't got breeding enough to stand it.'

Eugenie drew a long breath.

'Well, don't scold me, papa--if I try--I must'--her voice escaped her,
and she began again, firmly--'I must have something to fill up.'

'Fill up what?'

She looked round to make sure that the servants had finished clearing
away the tea, and that they were alone.

'The days--and the hours,' she said, softly. 'One must have something
to think of.'

Lord Findon frowned.

'He will fall in love with you, Eugenie--and then where shall we be?'

He heard a laugh--very sweet--very feminine, yet, to his ear, very
forlorn.

'I'll take care of that. We'll find him a wife, too, papa--when he
"arrives." We shall be in practice--you and I.'

Lord Findon sprang up.

'Here he is!' he said, with very evident agitation.

The pronoun clearly had no reference to Fenwick. Eugenie sat
motionless, looking into the fire, her hands on her knee. Lord Findon
listened a moment.

'I'm going to my room. Eugenie!--if I could be the slightest use--'

'Dear papa!' she looked up, smiling. 'It's very simple.'

With a muttered exclamation, Lord Findon walked to the further end of
the drawing-room, and vanished through