y towards a seat where they would be uninterrupted. "One
judges so of people by their tastes in haunts."

Lady Ethelrida never spoke of herself as a rule. She was not in the
habit of getting into those--abstract to begin with, and personal to go
on with--thrilling conversations with men, which most of the modern
young women delight in, and which were the peculiar joy of Lily Opie.

It was because for some unacknowledged reason the financier personally
pleased her that she now drifted where he wished.

"Mine are very simple, I fear, nothing for you to investigate," she said
gently.

"So I should have thought--" and he again as he had done at dinner
permitted himself to look into her eyes, and going on after an
imperceptible pause he said softly, "simple, and pure, and sweet ...I
always think of you, Lady Ethelrida, as the embodiment of sane things,
balanced things--perfection." And his last word was almost a caress.

"I am most ordinary," she said; and she wondered why she was not angry
with him, which she quite well could have been.

"It is only perfect balance in all things, if we but know it, which
appeals to the sane eye," he went on, pulling himself up. "All weariness
and satiety are caused in emotion; in pleasure in persons, places, or
things; by the want of proportion in them somewhere which, like all
simple things, is the hardest to find."

"Do you make theories about everything, Mr. Markrute?" she asked, and
there was a smile in her eye.

"It is a wise thing to do sometimes; it keeps one from losing one's
head."

Lady Ethelrida did not answer. She felt deliciously moved. She had often
said to her friend, Anne Anningford, when they had been talking, that
she did not like elderly men; she disliked to see their hair getting
thin, and their chins getting fat, and their little habits and
mannerisms growing pronounced. But here she found herself tremendously
interested in one who, from all accounts, must be quite forty-five if
not older, though it was true his brown colorless hair was excessively
thick, and he was slight of build everywhere.

Now she felt she must turn the conversation to less personal things, so:

"Zara looks very lovely to-night," she said.

"Yes," replied the financier, with an air of detaching himself
unwillingly from a thrilling topic, which was, indeed, what he felt.
"Yes, and I hope some day they will be exceedingly happy."

"Why do you say some day?" Lady Ethelrida asked quickly