thered in London
drawing-rooms, were those of gentle breeding and bright intelligence;
her education seemed better than is looked for among ladies in general.
Glazzard perceived that she had read diligently, and with scope beyond
that of the circulating library; the book with which she had been
engaged when they entered was a Danish novel.

"Do you also look for salvation to the Scandinavians?" he asked.

"I read the languages--the modern. They have a very interesting
literature of to-day; the old battle-stories don't appeal to me quite
so much as they do to Denzil."

"You ought to know this fellow Jacobsen," said Quarrier, taking up the
novel. "'Marie Grubbe' doesn't sound a very aesthetic title, but the
book is quite in your line--a wonderfully delicate bit of work."

"Don't imagine, Mrs. Quarrier," pleaded Glazzard, "that I am what is
called an aesthete. The thing is an abomination to me."

"Oh, you go tolerably far in that direction!" cried Denzil, laughing.
"True, you don't let your hair grow, and in general make an ass of
yourself; but there's a good deal of preciosity about you, you know."

Seeing that Mr. Glazzard's crown showed an incipient baldness, the
allusion to his hair was perhaps unfortunate. Lilian fancied that her
guest betrayed a slight annoyance; she at once interposed with a remark
that led away from such dangerous ground. It seemed to her (she had
already received the impression from Quarrier's talk of the evening
before) that Denzil behaved to his friend with an air of bantering
superiority which it was not easy to account for. Mr. Glazzard, so far
as she could yet judge, was by no means the kind of man to be dealt
with in this tone; she thought him rather disposed to pride than to an
excess of humility, and saw in his face an occasional melancholy which
inspired her with interest and respect.

A female servant (the vacancy made by Lilian's self-denying kindness
had been hastily supplied) appeared with summons to dinner. Mr.
Glazzard offered an arm to his hostess, and Quarrier followed with a
look of smiling pleasure.

Hospitality had been duly cared for. Not at all inclined to the simple
fare which Denzil chose to believe would suffice for him, Glazzard
found more satisfaction in the meal than he had anticipated. If Mrs.
Quarrier were responsible for the _menu_ (he doubted it), she revealed
yet another virtue. The mysterious circumstances of this household
puzzled him more and more; occa