ain and none of the advantage of the impulsive, emotional woman;
consciousness of longing made instinctive appeal impossible. 'Very well,
thank you,' she smiled, as quietly as he.

'What a beastly day!' said Gerald, looking out. 'You can't imagine
London. It's like breathing in a wet blanket. The clean air is a
comfort, at all events.'

'Yes,' smiled Althea.

'Old Morty Finch is coming down in time for dinner,' Gerald went on. 'I
met him on my way to the station and asked him. Such a good fellow--you
remember him? He won't be too many, will he?'

'Indeed no.'

Gerald leaned back, drew the rug up about his knees, and folded his
arms, looking at her, still with his generally contented smile. 'And
your guests are happy? You're enjoying yourself? Miss Arlington plays
the violin, you said. I'm looking forward to hearing her--and seeing her
again, too; she is such a very pretty girl.'

'Isn't she?' said Althea. And now, as they rolled on between the
dripping hedges, she knew that the trembling of hope and fear was gone,
and that a sudden misery, like that of the earth and sky, had settled
upon her. He had not kissed her. He did not even take her hand. Oh, why
did he not kiss her? why did he not know that she wanted love and
comfort? Only her pride controlled the cry.

Gerald looked out of the window and seemed to find everything very
pleasant. 'I went to the play last night,' he said. 'Kane took a party
of us--Helen, Miss Buchanan, Lord Compton, and Molly Fanshawe. What a
good sort he is, Kane; a real character.'

'You didn't get at him at all in the summer, did you?' said Althea, in
her deadened voice.

'No,' said Gerald reflectively, 'not at all; and I don't think that I
get much more at him now, you know; but I see more what's in him; he is
so extraordinarily kind and he takes his money so nicely. And, O Lord!
how he is being run after! He really has millions, you know; the mothers
are all at his traces trying to track him down, and he is as cheerful
and as unconcerned as you please.' Gerald suddenly smiled round at her
again. 'I say, Althea, don't you regret him sometimes? It would have
been a glorious match, you know.'

Althea felt herself growing pale. 'Regret him!' she said, and, for her,
almost violently, the opportunity was an outlet for her wretchedness; 'I
can't conceive how a man's money can make any difference. I couldn't
have married Franklin if he'd been a king!'

'Oh, my dear!' said Gerald, start