o some
tragic event of early life. She did not relish the opposite pole of
human experience to her companion's. Of course, he was a bachelor
nominally unattached--she appreciated that--just as she was a spinster
very actually unattached. But all men of his type she had understood
were alike; only some--this one certainly--were much better than others.
Honestly she was quite unconscious of any personal reason for assigning
to him a first-class record.

Attempts to sift the human mind throw very little light upon it, and the
dust gets in the eyes of the story. Perhaps that is why it cannot give
Miss Dickenson's reason for not following up her last remark with:--"And
will go on so, I suppose, to the end of time!" as she had half-intended
to do, philosophically. Possibly she thought it would complicate the
topic she was hankering after. It would be better to keep that
provisionally clear of subjects made to the hand of writers of plays.
She would not go beyond hypnotic suggestion at present. She approached
it with the air of one who dismisses a triviality.

"It seems Mr. Adrian Torrens is a musician as well as a poet."

"Had they been playing the piano?"

"Really, Mr. Pellew, how absurd you are! Where does 'they' come in?"

"Oh--well--a--of course--I thought you were referring to ..."

"_Whom_ did you suppose I was referring to?" Aggressive equanimity here
that can wait weeks, if necessary.

"Torrens and my cousin Gwen! Be hanged if I can see why I shouldn't
refer to them!"

"Do so by all means. I wasn't, myself; but it doesn't matter. It was
Nurse Bailey told Lutwyche, whom I borrow from Gwen sometimes, that Mr.
Torrens was a great musician."

"How does Nurse Bailey know?"

"He was playing to her quite beautiful in the drawing-room just before
her young ladyship came in. And then Mrs. Bailey went upstairs to write
a letter because there was plenty of time before the post."

"Can't say I believe Nurse Bailey's much of a dab at music." Mr. Pellew
was reflecting on the humorous background of Miss Dickenson's
character, clear to his insight in her last speech. "But it was just
post-time when we got back from the flower-show.... What then? Why, her
young ladyship must have been there long enough for Mrs. Bailey to write
a letter."

"Is that the way you gossip at your Club, Mr. Pellew?"

"Come, I say, Miss Dickenson, that's too bad! I merely remark that a
lady and gentleman must have had plenty of time for music,