ing to bear all of his extraordinary concentration of mind
upon a problem with which he had been occupied for some years past. He
was not a man, as we know, to take the important steps of life in a
hurry, although; like the truly great, he was capable of making up his
mind in a very brief period when it was necessary to strike. He had now,
after weighing the question with the consideration which its gravity
demanded, finally decided upon definite action. Whereupon he walked out
of the library, leaving the other guests to comment as they would; or not
comment at all, for all he cared. Like all masterful men, he went direct
to the thing he wanted.

The ladies were having coffee under the maples, by the tea-table. At some
little distance from the group Beatrice Chillingham was walking with
Victoria, and it was evident that Victoria found Miss Chillingham's
remarks amusing. These were the only two in the party who did not observe
Mr. Crewe's approach. Mrs. Pomfret, when she saw the direction which he
was taking, lost the thread of her conversation, and the lady who was
visiting her wore a significant expression.

"Victoria," said Mr. Crewe, "let's go around to the other side of the
house and look at the view."

Victoria started and turned to him from Miss Chillingham, with the fun
still sparkling in her eyes. It was, perhaps, as well for Mr. Crewe that
he had not overheard their conversation; but this might have applied to
any man.

"Are you sure you can spare the time?" she asked.

Mr. Crewe looked at his watch--probably from habit.

"I made it a point to leave the smoking room early," he replied.

"We're flattered--aren't we, Beatrice?"

Miss Chillingham had a turned-up nose, and a face which was apt to be
slightly freckled at this time of year; for she contemned vanity and
veils. For fear of doing her an injustice, it must be added that she was
not at all bad-looking; quite the contrary All that can be noted in this
brief space is that Beatrice Chillingham was herself. Some people
declared that she was possessed of the seven devils of her sex which Mr.
Stockton wrote about.

"I'm flattered," she said, and walked off towards the tea-table with a
glance in which Victoria read many meanings. Mr. Crewe paid no attention
either to words, look, or departure.

"I want to talk to you," he said.

"You've made that very plain, at least," answered Victoria. "Why did you
pretend it was the view?"

"Some conventionalit