It happened, however, that just when all the bays and creeks of Dr Lefevre’s attention were occupied, as by a springtide, with the excellent, the divine fortune that had come to him,—­when he seemed thus most completely divorced from anxious speculation about Julius Courtney and “M.  Dolaro,” his attention was suddenly and in unexpected fashion hurried again to the mystery.  The doctor had not seen Julius since the day he had received him in his bedroom—­it must be admitted he had not sought to see him—­but he had heard now and then from his mother, in casual notes and postscripts, that Courtney continued to call in Curzon Street.

On a certain evening Lady Lefevre gave a dinner and a reception, designed to introduce Lady Mary to the Lefevre circle.  Julius was not at dinner (at which only members of the two families sat down), but he was expected to appear later.  It is probable, under the circumstances, that Lefevre would not have remarked the absence of Julius from the dinner-table, had it not been for Nora.  He was painfully struck with her appearance and demeanour.  She seemed to have lost much of her beautiful vigour and bloom of health, like a flower that has been for some time cut from its stem; and she, who had been wont to be ready and gay of speech, was now completely silent, yet without constraint, and as if wrapt in a dream.

“What has come over Nora?” asked Lefevre of his mother when they had gone to the drawing-room.

“Ah,” said Lady Lefevre, “you have noticed something, have you?  Do you find her very changed, then?”

“Very much changed.”

“It’s this attachment of hers to Julius.  I want to have a talk with you about it presently.  She seems scarcely to live when he is not with her.  She sits like that always when he is gone, and appears only to dream and wait,—­wait with her life as if suspended till he comes back.”

“Has it, indeed, got so far as that?” said her son with concern.  “I had better have a word or two with Julius about it.”

Just then Mr Courtney was announced, and there were introductions on this side and on that.  He turned to be introduced to Lady Mary, and for the time Lefevre forgot his sister, so engrossed was he with the altered aspect of his friend.  He looked worn and weary, like a student when the dawn finds him still at his books.  Lady Lefevre expressed that in her question—­

“Why, Julius, have you taken to hard work?  You’re not looking well, and we have not seen you for days.”

A flush rose to tinge his cheek, but it sank as soon as it appeared.

“I have been out of sorts,” said he; “that is all.  And you have not seen me because I have bought a yacht and have been trying it on the river.”

“A yacht!” exclaimed Lefevre.  “I did not know you cared for the water.”

“You know me,” laughed Julius in his own manner, “and not know that I care for everything!” So saying, he laid his hand on Lefevre’s arm.  The act was not remarkable, but its result was, for Lefevre felt it as if it were a blow, and stood astonished at it.