thinking. It was eleven
o'clock before he really had a word with Carlisle.

"It began to look like a house-party," said he....

They were alone now in the drawing-room at home, a room whose dim
beautiful lights made it look always at its best at night. Mamma had
just gone up. Cally stood in front of a small plaque-mirror; she had
taken off her wraps, and was now fluffing up her fine ash-gold hair
where the scarf over her head had pressed it down. The pose, with
upraised arms, was an alluring one; she was lithe, with a charming
figure. And she still looked very young, as fresh as a rose, as new as
spring and first love.

"Cally," said Canning, behind her--"I've fallen in love with your little
name, you see, and I'm always going to call you by it after this--Cally,
did I ever mention to you that you're the prettiest girl I ever saw.
Only pretty is not the word...."

Cally laughed at her reflection in the glass.

"You could never have fallen in love with me--or my name--unless you'd
thought so.... Could you?"

"I've never asked myself. But I could fall in love with everything else
about you, too, because I've gone and done it."

"I wonder ... Anyhow none of the other things matter much, do they? I
can't imagine your falling in love with a hideosity, no matter how worth
loving she might be."

"Under the circumstances, why bother to try?"

"It's no bother, and it's intensely interesting...."

Canning advanced a step. Carlisle's gaze moved a little and encountered
his in the glass. In his eyes lay his whole opinion of one half the
human world....

"_Don't_ look at me in that proprietary way...."

Canning laughed softly. He was fully prepared for coquetry.

"Proprietary! It's the last way, my dear, I should venture to look at
_you_."

She had allowed him to linger, certainly with no blindness as to what he
desired to say to her. She had stood there with no ignorance that the
moment was favorable. But now something seemed to have gone amiss, and
she turned suddenly, frustrating whatever loverly intention he may
have had.

Carlisle sat down in a circular brocaded chair, in which gold back and
gold arms were one; a sufficiently decorative background for her shining
_decollete_. Hugo, standing and fingering his white tie, looked down at
her with no loss of confidence in his handsome eyes.

"You've changed somehow," said he. "I haven't quite placed it yet.
Still, I can feel it there."

"I'm older, my friend,