his elbow, he
remarked the photograph of a jockey who was just then engrossing public
affection. What did all this mean? Formerly, he had attributed every
graceful feature of the room to Constance's choice. He had imagined
that to her Mr. Palmer was indebted for guidance on points of aesthetic
propriety. Could it be that----?

He caught a glance which she cast in his direction, and instantly
forgot the troublesome problem. How dull of him to misunderstand her!
Her sportiveness had a double significance. It was the expression of a
hope which would not be subdued, and at the same time a means of
disguising the tender interest with which she regarded _him_. If she
had been blithe before his appearance, how could she suddenly change
her demeanour as soon as he entered? It would have challenged suspicion
and remark. For the same reason she affected to have all but forgotten
him. Of course! how could he have failed to see that? 'I thought of you
one day at Bordighera'--was not that the best possible way of making
known to him that he had never been out of her mind?

Sweet, noble, long-suffering Constance!

He took a place by her sister, and began to talk of he knew not what,
for all his attention was given to the sound of Constance's voice.

'Yes,' she was saying to the man of military appearance, 'it's very
early to come back to London, but I did get so tired of those foreign
places.'

(In other words, of being far from her Christian--thus he interpreted.)

'No, we didn't make a single pleasant acquaintance. A shockingly
tiresome lot of people wherever we went.'

(In comparison with the faithful lover, who waited, waited.)

'Foreigners are so stupid--don't you think so? Why should they always
expect you to speak _their_ language?--Oh, of course I speak French;
but it is such a disagreeable language--don't you think so?'

(Compared with the accents of English devotion, of course.)

'Do you go in for cycling, Mr. Moxey?' inquired Mrs. Palmer's laughing
niece, from a little distance.

'For cycling?' With a great effort he recovered himself and grasped the
meaning of the words. 'No, I--I'm sorry to say I don't. Capital
exercise!'

'Mr. Dwight has just been telling me such an awfully good story about a
friend of his. Do tell it again, Mr. Dwight! It'll make you laugh no
end, Mr. Moxey.'

The young man appealed to was ready enough to repeat his anecdote,
which had to do with a bold cyclist, who, after dining more t