“In order not to like any of them too much? Ah, that, you know, I never found out—and it’s too late now. When,” she presently pursued, “did you last see her?”

He really had to think. “Would it have been since last November or so?—somewhere or other where we spent three days.”

“Oh, at Surredge? I know all about that. I thought you also met afterwards.”

He had again to recall. “So we did! Wouldn’t it have been some-where at Christmas? But it wasn’t by arrangement!” he laughed, giving with his forefinger a little pleasant nick to his hostess’s chin. Then as if something in the way she received this attention put him back to his question of a moment before. “Have you kept my note?”

She held him with her pretty eyes. “Do you want it back?”

“Ah, don’t speak as if I did take things—!”

She dropped her gaze to the fire. “No, you don’t; not even the hard things a really generous nature often would.” She quitted, however, as if to forget that, the chimney-place. “I put it there!”

“You’ve burnt it? Good!” It made him easier, but he noticed the next moment on a table the lemon-colored volume left there by Mrs. Blessingbourne, and, taking it up for a look, immediately put it down. “You might, while you were about it, have burnt that too.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Dear, yes. And you?”

“No,” said Mrs. Dyott; “it wasn’t for me Maud brought it.”

It pulled her visitor up. “Mrs. Blessingbourne brought it?”

“For such a day as this.” But she wondered. “How you look! Is it so awful?”

“Oh, like his others.” Something had occurred to him; his thought was already far. “Does she know?”

“Why, anything.”

But the door opened too soon for Mrs. Dyott, who could only murmur quickly—

“Take care!”

II

It was in fact Mrs. Blessingbourne, who had under her arm the book she had gone up for—a pair of covers that this time showed a pretty, a candid blue. She was followed next minute by the servant, who brought in tea, the consumption of which, with the passage of greetings, inquiries and other light civilities between the two visitors, occupied a quarter of an hour. Mrs. Dyott meanwhile, as a contribution to so much amenity, mentioned to Maud that her fellow-guest wished to scold her for the books she read—a statement met by this friend with the remark that he must first be sure about them. But as soon as he had picked up the new volume he broke out into a frank “Dear, dear!”

“Have you read that too?” Mrs. Dyott inquired. “How much you’ll have to talk over together! The other one,” she explained to him, “Maud speaks of as terribly tame.”

“Ah, I must have that out with her! You don’t feel the extraordinary force of the fellow?” Voyt went on to Mrs. Blessingbourne.