except when she's
there--and she--well, she encourages him a good bit, father.'

'You don't understand, Marmie. You see, you don't care for books and
pictures; Eugenie does.'

'I suppose she does,' said Marmaduke, doubtfully--'but she wouldn't
care so much if Fenwick wasn't there to talk about them.'

'His talk is admirable!' said Lord Findon.

'I dare say it is, but he isn't my sister's equal,' replied the son,
with stolidity.

'A good artist is anybodyies equal,' cried Lord Findon, much heated.

'You don't really think it, papa,' said Marmaduke, firmly. 'Shall I
give Eugenie a talking to?--as you're not in a condition.'

Lord Findon laughed, though not gaily.

'You'd better try! Or rather, I don't advise you to try!'

Marmaduke, however, did try; with the only result that Eugenie soon
grew a little vexed and tremulous, and begged him to go home. He
might be a master of brewing finance, and a dear, kind, well-meaning
brother, but he really did not understand his sister's affairs.

Marmaduke went home, much puzzled, urgently commanding Theresa to
write to him, and announcing to Arthur Welby, who listened silently,
as he talked, that if Fenwick did propose, he should think it a damned
impertinence.

Lord Findon meanwhile held his peace. Every day Eugenie came in from
her walk with Fenwick, to sit with or read to her father. She
always spoke of what she had been doing, quite naturally and simply,
describing their walk and their conversation, giving the news of
Fenwick's work--bringing his sketches to show. Lord Findon would lie
and listen--a little suspicious and ill at ease--sometimes a little
sulky. But he let his illness and his voicelessness excuse him from
grappling with her. She must, of course, please herself. If she chose,
as she seemed about to choose--why, they must all make the best of
it!--Marmaduke might talk as he liked. Naturally, Arthur kept away
from them. Poor Arthur! But what a darling she looked in her black,
with this fresh touch of colour in her pale cheeks!

The Welbys certainly had but little to do with the party at the
Reservoirs. Welby seemed to be absorbed in his new picture, and Mrs.
Welby let it be plainly understood that at home Arthur was too busy,
and she too ill, to receive visitors; while out-of-doors they neither
of them wished to be thrown across Mr. Fenwick.

Every evening, after taking his wife home, Welby went out by himself
for a solitary walk. He avoided the Park an