Morewood looked round with a discontented air.  Miss Chambers was mortally angry with him and had turned to Bob Territon, whom she was trying to persuade to come to a bazaar at Bellminster on the Monday.  Bob was recalcitrant, and here too the atmosphere became a little disturbed.  The only people apparently content were Kate and Haddington and Lady Claudia and Stafford.  To the rest it was a relief when Mrs. Lane gave the signal to rise.

Matters improved, however, in the drawing-room.  The Bishop and Stafford were soon deep in conversation; and Claudia, thus deprived of her former companion, condescended to be very gracious to Mr. Morewood, in the secret hope that that eccentric genius would make her the talk of the studios next summer by painting her portrait.  Haddington and Bob had vanished with cigars; and Eugene looking round and seeing that all was peace, said to himself in an access of dutifulness.  “Now for it!” and crossed over to where Kate sat, and invited her to accompany him into the garden.

Kate acquiesced, but showed little other sign of relaxing her attitude of lofty displeasure.  She left Eugene to begin.

“I’m awfully sorry, Kate, if you were vexed this morning.”

Absolute silence.

“But, you see, as host here, I couldn’t very well turn out Lady Claudia.”

“Why don’t you say Claudia?” asked Kate, in sarcastic tones.

Eugene felt inclined to fly, but he recognized that his only chance lay in pretending innocence when he had it not.

“Are we to quarrel about a trifle of that sort?” he asked; “a girl I’ve known like a sister for the last ten years!”

Kate smiled bitterly.

“Do you really suppose that deceives me?  Of course I am not afraid of your falling in love with Claudia; but it’s very bad taste to have anything at all like flirtation with her.”

“Quite right; it is.  It shall not occur again.  Isn’t that enough?”

Kate, in spite of her confidence, was not anxious to drive Eugene with too tight a rein, so, with a nearer approach to graciousness she allowed it to appear that it was enough.

“Then come along,” he said, passing his arm around her waist, and running her briskly along the terrace to a seat at the end, where he deposited her.

“Really, Eugene, one would think you were a schoolboy.  Suppose any one had seen us!”

“Some one did,” said Eugene composedly, lighting his cigar.

“Who?”

“Haddington.  He was sitting on the step of the sun-dial, smoking.”

“How annoying!  What’s he doing there?”

“If you ask me, I expect he’s waiting on the chance of Lady Claudia coming out.”

“I should think it very unlikely,” said Kate, with an impatient tap of her foot; “and I wish you wouldn’t do such things.”

Eugene smiled; and having thus, as he conceived, partly avenged himself, devoted the next ten minutes to orthodox love-making, with the warmth of which Kate had no reason to be discontent.  On the expiration of that time he pleaded his obligations as a host, and they returned to the house, Kate much mollified, Eugene with the peaceful but fatigued air that tells of duty done.