“Is his case so hopeless as that?” said Lady Earlscourt, in a low voice, and Phyllis smiled in response—­the smile of the guest when the hostess had made a point.

When Lady Earlscourt had indiscreetly, but confidentially, explained to some of her guests the previous week that she meant her little dinner party to be the means of reuniting Mr. Holland and Miss Ayrton, one of them—­he was a man—­smiled and said, when she had gone away, that she was a singularly unobservant woman, or she would have known that the best way of bringing two people together is to keep them as much apart as possible.  There was wisdom in the paradox, he declared; for everyone should know that it was only when a man and a woman were far apart that they came to appreciate each other.

It seemed, indeed, that there was some truth in what that man said, for Phyllis, before the ice pudding appeared, had come to the conclusion that George Holland was a very uninteresting sort of man.  To be sure, he had not talked about himself,—­he was not such a fool as to do that:  he had talked about her to the exclusion of almost every other topic—­he had been wise enough to do that,—­but in spite of all, he had not succeeded in arousing her interest.  He had not succeeded in making her think of the present when her thoughts had been dwelling on the past—­not the distant past, not the past of two months ago, when they had been lovers, but the past of two hours ago, when she had watched the effect of her words upon Herbert Courtland.

She chatted away to George Holland very pleasantly—­as pleasantly as usual—­so pleasantly as to cause some of her fellow-guests to smile and whisper significantly to one another, suggesting the impossibility of two persons who got on so well together as Mr. Holland and Miss Ayrton being separated by a barrier so paltry as an engagement broken off by the young woman for conscience’ sake.

But when the significant smiles of these persons were forced upon the notice of their hostess, she did not smile; she was a lady with a really remarkable lack of knowledge; but she knew better than to accept the pleasant chat of George Holland and Phyllis Ayrton as an indication that the status quo ante bellum—­to make use of the expressive phrase of diplomacy—­had been re-established between them.

Only when George Holland ventured to express his admiration of Mr. Ayrton’s adroitness in dealing with the foolish question of the gentleman from Wales did he succeed in interesting Miss Ayrton.

“What a very foolish letter those missionaries sent home regarding the explorations of Mr. Courtland!” said he.  “Did they hope to jeopardize the popularity of Mr. Courtland by suggesting that he had massacred a number of cannibals?”

“I suppose that was their object,” said Phyllis.

“They must be singularly foolish persons, even for missionaries,” said the Rev. George Holland.

“Even for missionaries?” Phyllis repeated.  “Oh, I forgot that you are no believer in the advantages of missions to the people whom we call heathen.  But I have not been able to bring myself to agree with you there.  They have souls to be saved.”