rom the keys, so useless did it
appear to her. At four she was dreaming of Owen in an armchair. The
servant suddenly announced him, and he came in, seemingly recovered from
his gout and his old age. His figure was the perfect elegance of a man
of forty-three, and in such beautiful balance that an old admiration
awakened in her. His "waistcoats and his valet," she thought, catching
sight of the embroideries and the pale, subdued, terrified air of the
personal servant. The valet carried a parcel which Evelyn guessed to be
a present for her. It was a tea-service of old Crown Derby that Owen had
happened upon in Bath, and they spent some time examining its pale roses
and gilt pattern. She expected him to refer to their last interview, but
he avoided doing so, preferring to take it for granted that he still was
her lover, and he did so without giving her sufficient occasion to
correct him on this point. He was affectionate and intimate; he sat
beside her on the sofa, and talked pleasantly of the benefit he had
derived from the waters, of the boredom of hotel life, and of a concert
given in aid of a charity.

"But that reminds me," he said; "I heard about the Wimbledon concert,
and was sorry you did not write to me for a subscription. Lady
Merrington told me about the nuns; they spent all their money building a
chapel, and had not enough to eat."

"I didn't think you would care to subscribe to a convent."

"Now, why did you think that? Poor devils of nuns, shut up in a convent
without enough to eat. Of course I'll subscribe; I'll send them a cheque
for ten pounds to-morrow."

This afternoon, whether by accident or design, he said no word that
might jar on her religious scruples; he even appeared to sympathise with
religious life, and admitted that the world was not much, and to
renounce the world was sublime. The conversation paused, and he said, "I
think the tea-service suits the room. You haven't thanked me for it yet,
Evelyn."

"I don't know that I ought to accept any more presents from you. I have
accepted too much as it is."

She was conscious of her feebleness. It would have been better to have
said, "I am another man's mistress," but she could not speak the words,
and he asked if they might have tea in the new service. She did not
answer, so he rang, and when the servant left the room he took her hands
and drew her closer to him. "I am another man's mistress, you must not
touch me," rang in her brain, but he did