lling of it.

Then the three ladies and the one man have grouped--composed
themselves--for reasonable chat. He is in his invalid chair by special
edict, at the window, and the two visitors face him half-flanking it.
His sister leans over him behind on the chair-back. She has kept very
close to him, guiding him under pretence that he wants support, which is
scarcely the case now, so rapid has been his progress in this last week.
She is very anxious lest her brother should venture too rashly on
fictitious proofs of eyesight that does not exist. But it can all be put
down to uneasiness about his strength.

The platitudes of mere chat ensue, the Countess being prolocutrix. But
she can be sincerely earnest in speaking of her own concern about the
accident, and her family's. Also to the full about the rejoicing of
everyone when it was "certain that all would turn out well." She has
been bound over to say nothing about the eyesight, and keeps pledges;
almost too transparently, perhaps. A word or two about it as a thing of
temporary abeyance might have been more plausible.

Gwen has become very silent since that first warmth of her greeting. She
is leaving the conversation to her mother, which puzzles Irene, who had
framed a different picture of the interview, and is disappointed so far.
Achilles, the dog, too, may be disappointed--may be feeling that
something more demonstrative is due to the position. Irene imputes this
view to him, inferring it from his restless appeals to Gwen, as he leans
against her skirts, throwing back a pathetic gaze of remonstrance for
something too complex for his powers of language. Her comment:--"He is
always like that,"--seems to convey an image of his whereabouts to his
master, confirmed perhaps by expressive dog-substitutes for speech.

"You mustn't let my bow-wow worry you, Lady Gwendolen. He presumes till
he's checked, on principle. Send him to lie down over here. Here, Ply,
Ply, Ply!... Oh, won't he come?" Probably Achilles knows that his
master, who speaks, is only being civil.

"No--because I'm holding him. I want him here. He's a darling!" So says
Gwen; and then continues:--"Oh yes, _I_ know why he's Ply--short for
Pelides. I think he thinks I think it was his fault, and wants
forgiveness."

"Possibly. But it is also possible that he sees his way by cajolery to
all the sweet biscuits with a little crown on them that come about with
tea. He wants none of us to have any. Pray do not th