to every observer. She could see it all now.

"You know, dear," said Irene, "if Adrian were a reasonable being, there
would be no harm in his dining down, as Lutwyche calls it. He could sit
up to dinner perfectly, but no earthly persuasion would get him up to
bed till midnight. And as for lying down on sofas in the drawing-room
after dinner, you could as soon get a mad bull to lie down on a sofa as
Adrian, if there was what Lutwyche calls company."

So that evening the beauty of the Earl's daughter--whose name among the
countryfolk, by-the-by, was "Gwen o' the Towers"--was less destructive
than usual to the one or two new bachelors who helped the variation of
the party. For monumental beauty kills only poets and dreamers, and
these young gentlemen were Squires. The verdict of one of them about her
tells its tale:--"A stunner to look at, but too standoffish for my
money!" She was nothing of the sort; and would gladly, to oblige, have
shot a smile or an eye-flash at either of them if her heart had not been
so heavy. But she wanted terribly to be alone and cry all the evening,
and was of no use as a beauty. Perhaps it was as well that it was so,
for these unattached males.

When the time came for the loneliness of night she was frightened of it,
and let Irene go at her own door with reluctance. In answer to whom she
said at parting:--"No--no, dear! I'm perfectly well, and nothing's the
matter." Irene spoke back after leaving her:--"You know _I'm_ not the
least afraid about him. It will be all right." Then Gwen mustered a poor
laugh, and with "Of course it will, dear!" vanished into her bedroom.

She got to sleep and slept awhile; then awoke to the worst solitude a
vexed soul knows--those terrible "small hours" of the morning. Then,
every mere insect of evil omen that daylight has kept in bounds grows
to the size of an elephant, and what was the whirring of his wings
becomes discordant thunder. Then palliatives lose their market-value,
and every clever self-deception that stands between us and acknowledged
ill bursts, bubblewise, and leaves the soul naked and unarmed against
despair.

Gwen waked without provocation at about three in the morning; waked
Heaven knew why!--for there was all the raw material of a good night's
rest; the candidate for the sleepership; a prodigiously comfortable bed;
dead silence, not so much as an owl in the still night she looked out
into during an excursion warranted to promote sleep--but ne