“I am afraid,” she said, “that it would be hopeless.  Mother is an absolute wreck, and I saw Lord Arranmore go into the library just now with that terrible white look under his eyes.  I saw it once before.  Ugh!”

“After all,” he said, “it only means that we shall be honest.  Cheerfulness to-night could only be forced.”

She laughed softly into his eyes.

“How correct!” she murmured.  “You are improving fast.”

He turned and looked at her, slim and graceful in her white muslin gown, her fair hair brushed back from her forehead with a slight wave, but drooping low over her ears, a delicate setting for her piquant face.  The dark brown eyes, narrowing a little towards the lids, met his with frank kindliness, her mouth quivered a little as though with the desire to break away into a laugh.  The slight duskiness of her cheeks—­she had lived for three years in Italy and never worn a veil—­pleased him better than the insipidity of pink and white, and the absence of jewelry—­she wore neither bracelet nor rings gave her an added touch of distinction, which restless youth finds something so much harder to wear than sedate middle age.  The admiration grew in his eyes.  She was charming.

The lips broke away at last.

“After all,” she murmured, “I think that I shall enjoy myself this evening.  You are looking all sorts of nice things at me.”

“My eyes,” he answered, “are more daring than my lips.”

“And you call yourself a lawyer?”

“Is that a challenge?  Well, I was thinking that you looked charming.”

“Is that all?  I have a looking-glass, you know.”

“And I shall miss you—­very much.”

She suddenly avoided his eyes, but it was for a second only.  Yet Brooks was himself conscious of the significance of that second.  He set his teeth hard.

“The days here,” he said, slowly, “have been very pleasant.  It has all been—­such a different life for me.  A few months ago I knew no one except a few of the Medchester people, and was working hard to make a modest living.  Sometimes I feel here as though I were a modern Aladdin.  There is a sense of unreality about Lord Arranmore’s extraordinary kindness to me.  To-night, more than ever, I cannot help feeling that it is something like a dream which may pass away at any moment.”

She looked at him thoughtfully.

“Lord Arranmore is not an impulsive person,” she said.  “He must have had some reason for being so decent to you.”

“Yes, as regards the management of his affairs perhaps,” Brooks answered.  “But why he should ask me here, and treat me as though I were his social equal and all that sort of thing—­well, you know that is a puzzle, isn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she answered.  “Lord Arranmore is not exactly the man to be a slave to, or even to respect, the conventional, and your being—­what you are, naturally makes you a pleasant companion to him—­and his guests.  No, I don’t think that it is strange.”