companionship during the hours Cyril was engaged in his schoolroom
duties. In old times Michael had often accompanied her on her visits to
her various _protegees_; he had always been her escort to the
garden-parties that were greatly in vogue at Rutherford, or he would
drive her to Brail or some of the outlying towns or villages where she
had business.

It was somewhat of a disappointment, then, to find that Michael had
suddenly turned over a new leaf, and was far too occupied to be at her
beck and call. Kester came to him almost daily, and it became his custom
to spend the remainder of the morning in Dr. Ross's study. He had a
habit, too, of writing his letters after luncheon; in fact, he was
seldom disengaged until the evening, when he was always ready to take
his place in the family circle.

Audrey accused herself of selfishness. Of course she ought to be glad
that Michael's health had so much improved. Her father was always
remarking on the change in a tone of satisfaction.

'He is like the old Mike,' he said once; 'he has taken a new departure,
and has shaken off his listlessness. Why, he works quite steadily now
for hours without knocking up. He is a different man. He takes a class
for me every morning; it does me good to see him with half a dozen boys
round him. Blake will have to look out for himself; he is hardly as
popular as the Captain.'

Audrey took herself to task severely when her father said this. It was
evident that Michael had spoilt her. She was determined not to
monopolise him so selfishly; but, somehow, when it came to the point,
she was always forgetting these good resolutions.

And another thing puzzled Audrey: Michael was certainly quieter than he
used to be; when they were alone--which was a rare occurrence now--he
seemed to have so little to say to her. Sometimes he would take up his
book and read out a few passages, but if she begged him to put it down
and talk to her instead, he would dispute the point in the most tiresome
fashion.

'I think people talk too much, nowadays,' he would say in his lazy way;
'it is all lip-service now. If women would only cultivate their minds a
little more, and learn to hold their tongues until they have something
worth saying, the world would not be flooded with all this muddy
small-talk. Now, for example, if you would allow me to read you this
fine passage from Emerson.'

But if Audrey would allow nothing of the kind, and if, on the contrary,
she manif