ph's natural anxiety respecting his ladylove had been relieved,
and he had been repeatedly assured that nothing much was amiss, we went
in to dinner, and a more lugubrious repast I never remember being
present at. The meals of the day might have been classified thus:
breakfast _dismal_; luncheon, _dismaller_ (or more dismal); dinner,
_dismallest_ (or most dismal). There really was no conversation. Even I,
who without going very deep (which I consider is not in good taste) have
something to say on almost every subject--even I felt myself nonplussed
for the time being. Each of us in turn got out a few constrained words,
and then relapsed into silence.

Evelyn ate nothing, and her hand trembled so much when she poured out a
glass of water that she spilled some on the cloth. I saw Charles was
watching her furtively, and I became more and more certain that Aurelia
was right, and that Evelyn knew something about the mystery of the night
before. I must and would speak to her that very evening.

"Bitterly cold," said Ralph, when at last we had reached the dessert
stage. "It is snowing still, and the wind is getting up."

In truth, the wind was moaning round the house like an uneasy spirit.

"That sound in the wind always means snow," said Charles, evidently for
the sake of saying something. "It is easterly, I should think. Yes,"
after a pause, when another silence seemed imminent, "there goes the
eight o'clock train. It must be quite a quarter of an hour late, though,
for it has struck eight some time. I can hear it distinctly. The station
is three miles away, and you never hear the train unless the wind is in
the east."

"Come, Charles, not three miles--two miles and a half," put in Ralph.

"Well, two and a half from here down to the station, but certainly three
from the station up here," replied Charles; and so silence was
laboriously avoided by diligent small-talk until we returned to the
drawing-room, thankful that there at least we could take up a book, and
be silent if we wished. We all did wish it, apparently. Evelyn was
sitting by a lamp when we came in, with a book before her, her elbow on
the table, shading her face with a slender delicate hand. She remained
motionless, her eyes fixed upon the page, but I noticed after some time
that she had never turned it over. Charles may have read his newspaper,
but if he did it was with one eye upon Evelyn all the time. Between
watching them both I did not, as may be imagine