siness of mine."

"Old fellow," said MTutor, "don't cultivate those bearish ways. Some men
do, but it's not good form. I don't like to see it in you."

This silenced Jock, and made his face flame in the darkness. He did not
know what excuse to make. He added reluctantly: "Of course I know that
she came with the Contessa; but who she is I don't know, and I don't
think Lucy knows. She is just--there."

"Well, my boy," said Mr. Derwentwater, "if there is any mystery, all
right; I don't want to be prying;" but, as was natural, this only
increased his curiosity. After an interval, he broke forth again. "A
little mystery," he said, "suits them; a woman ought to be mysterious,
with her long robes falling round her, and her mystery of long hair, and
all the natural veils and mists that are about her. It is more poetic
and in keeping that they should only have a lovely suggestive name, what
we call a Christian name, instead of a commonplace patronymic, Miss
So-and-so! Yes; I recognise your Bice as by far the most suitable
symbol."

It is impossible to say what an amount of unexpressed and inexpressible
irritation arose in the mind of Jock with every word. "Your Bice!" The
words excited him almost beyond his power of control. The mere fact of
having somehow got into opposition to MTutor was in itself an irritation
almost more than he could bear. How it was he could not explain to
himself; but only felt that from the moment when they had got into their
carriage together, Mr. Derwentwater, hitherto his god, had become almost
odious to him. The evening altogether had been exciting, but
uncomfortable. They had all gone to the theatre, where Jock had been
prepared to look on not so much at a fine piece of acting as at a
conscientious study, the laboriousness of which was one of its chief
qualities. Neither the Contessa nor Bice had been much impressed by that
fine view of the performance. Madame di Forno-Populo, indeed, had swept
the audience with her opera-glass, and paid very little attention to the
stage. She had yawned at the most important moments. When the curtain
fell she had woke up, looking with interest for visitors, as it
appeared, though very few visitors had come. Bice was put into the
corner under shelter of the Contessa, and thence had taken furtive
peeps, though without any opera-glass, with her own keen, intelligent
young eyes, at the people sitting near, whom Jock had declared not to be
in any sense of the word t