Her voice supplied the missing link in the Major’s memory of events.  Remembering how she had looked at Romayne on the deck of the steamboat, he began dimly to understand Miss Eyrecourt’s otherwise incomprehensible anxiety to be of use to the General’s family.  “I remember perfectly,” he answered.  “It was on the passage from Boulogne to Folkestone—­and my friend was with me.  You and he have no doubt met since that time?” He put the question as a mere formality.  The unexpressed thought in him was, “Another of them in love with Romayne! and nothing, as usual, likely to come of it.”

“I hope you have forgiven me for going to Camp’s Hill in your place,” said Stella.

“I ought to be grateful to you,” the Major rejoined.  “No time has been lost in relieving these poor people—­and your powers of persuasion have succeeded, where mine might have failed.  Has Romayne been to see them himself since his return to London?”

“No.  He desires to remain unknown; and he is kindly content, for the present, to be represented by me.”

“For the present.”  Major Hynd repeated.

A faint flush passed over her delicate complexion.  “I have succeeded,” she resumed, “in inducing Madame Marillac to accept the help offered through me to her son.  The poor creature is safe, under kind superintendence, in a private asylum.  So far, I can do no more.”

“Will the mother accept nothing?”

“Nothing, either for herself or her daughter, so long as they can work.  I cannot tell you how patiently and beautifully she speaks of her hard lot.  But her health may give way—­and it is possible, before long, that I may leave London.”  She paused; the flush deepened on her face.  “The failure of the mother’s health may happen in my absence,” she continued; “and Mr. Romayne will ask you to look after the family, from time to time, while I am away.”

“I will do it with pleasure, Miss Eyrecourt.  Is Romayne likely to be here to-night?”

She smiled brightly, and looked away.  The Major’s curiosity was excited—­he looked in the same direction.  There was Romayne, entering the room, to answer for himself.

What was the attraction which drew the unsocial student to an evening party?  Major Hynd’s eyes were on the watch.  When Romayne and Stella shook hands, the attraction stood self-revealed to him, in Miss Eyrecourt.  Recalling the momentary confusion which she had betrayed, when she spoke of possibly leaving London, and of Romayne’s plans for supplying her place as his almoner, the Major, with military impatience of delays, jumped to a conclusion.  “I was wrong,” he thought; “my impenetrable friend is touched in the right place at last.  When the splendid creature in yellow leaves London, the name on her luggage will be Mrs. Romayne.”

“You are looking quite another man, Romayne!” he said mischievously, “since we met last.”

Stella gently moved away, leaving them to talk freely.  Romayne took no advantage of the circumstance to admit his old friend to his confidence.  Whatever relations might really exist between Miss Eyrecourt and himself were evidently kept secret thus far.  “My health has been a little better lately,” was the only reply he made.