Marsham watched her as she sat on the other side of the fire, her beautiful head a little bent and pensive, the firelight playing on the oval of her cheek.  How glad he was that he had not spoken!—­that the barrier between them still held.  A man may find heaven or hell on the other side of it.  But merely to have crossed it makes life the poorer.  One more of the great, the irrevocable moments spent and done—­yielded to devouring time.  He hugged the thought that it was still before him.  The very timidity and anxiety he felt were delightful to him; he had never felt them before.  And once more—­involuntarily, disagreeably—­he thought of Alicia Drake, and of the passages between them in the preceding summer.

Alicia was still at Tallyn, and her presence was, in truth, a constant embarrassment to him.  Lady Lucy, on the contrary, had a strong sense of family duty toward her young cousin, and liked to have her for long visits at Tallyn or in London.  Marsham believed his mother knew nothing of the old flirtation between them.  Alicia, indeed, rarely showed any special interest in him now.  He admitted her general discretion.  Yet occasionally she would put in a claim, a light word, now mocking, now caressing, which betrayed the old intimacy, and Marsham would wince under it.  It was like a creeping touch in the dark.  He had known what it was to feel both compunction and a kind of fear with regard to Alicia.  But, normally, he told himself that both feelings were ridiculous.  He had done nothing to compromise either himself or her.  He had certainly flirted with Alicia; but he could not honestly feel that the chief part in the matter had been his.

These thoughts passed in a flash.  The clock struck, and regretfully he got up to take his leave.  Diana rose, too, with a kindling face.

“My cousin will be here directly!” she said, joyously.

“Shall I find her installed when I come next time?”

“I mean to keep her as long—­as long—­as ever I can!”

Marsham held her hand close and warm a moment, felt her look waver a second beneath his, and then, with a quick and resolute step, he went his way.

He was just putting on his coat in the outer hall when there was a sound of approaching wheels.  A carriage stopped at the door, to which the butler hurried.  As he opened it Marsham saw in the light of the porch lamp the face of a girl peering out of the carriage window.  It was a little awkward.  His own horse was held by a groom on the other side of the carriage.  There was nothing to do but to wait till the young lady had passed.  He drew to one side.

Miss Merton descended.  There was just time for Marsham to notice an extravagant hat, smothered in ostrich feathers, a large-featured, rather handsome face, framed in a tangled mass of black hair, a pair of sharp eyes that seemed to take in hungrily all they saw—­the old hall, the butler, and himself, as he stood in the shadow.  He heard the new guest speak to the butler about her luggage.  Then the door of the inner hall opened, and he caught Diana’s hurrying feet, and her cry—­