On returning to the drawing-room, Egremont kept watch for a vacant place by Paula.  Presently he was able to move to her side.  She spread her fan upon her lap, and, ruffling its edge of white fur, said negligently: 

‘So you decided to waste an evening, Mr. Egremont.’

‘I decided to have an evening of rest and enjoyment.’

’I suppose you are working dreadfully hard.  When do you open your library?’

‘Scarcely in less than four or five months.’

’And will you stand at the counter and give out books, like the young men at Mudie’s?’

‘Sometimes, I dare say.  But I have found a librarian.’

‘Who is he?’

’A working man in Lambeth.  One of the most sympathetic natures I have ever met; a man who might have gone on all his life making candles—­that is how things are arranged.’

’Making candles?  What a funny change of occupation!  And you really think you are doing good in that disagreeable place?’

‘I can only hope.’

‘You are quite sure you are not doing harm?’

‘Does it seem to you that I am?’

Paula assumed an air of wisdom.

’Of course I have no right to speak of such things, but it is my opinion that you are destroying their sense of self-respect.  I don’t think they ought to have things given them; they should be encouraged to help themselves.’

He examined her face.  It was obvious that this profound sentiment had not taken birth in Paula’s charming little head, and he guessed from whom she had derived it.

‘I have no doubt Mr. Dalmaine would agree with you,’ he said smiling.  ‘I believe I have heard him say something of the kind.’

‘I m glad to hear it.  Mr. Dalmaine is an authority in such matters.’

‘And I, the very reverse of one?’

’Well, I really do think, Mr. Egremont, that you are taking up things for which you are not—­not exactly suited, you know.’

She said it with the prettiest air of patronage, looking at him for a moment, then, as usual, letting her eyes wander about the room.

‘Miss Tyrrell,’ he replied, with gravity that was half genuine, ’tell me for what I am exactly suited, and you will do me a vast kindness.’

She reflected.

’Oh, there are lots of things you do very nicely indeed.  I’ve seen you play croquet beautifully.  But I’ve always thought it a pity you weren’t a clergyman.’

Walter laughed.

‘Well, a local preacher is next to it.’

Both were at once carried back to the evening at Ullswater.  Paula kept silence; her eyes were directed towards Dalmaine, who almost at the same moment looked towards her.  She played with her fan.

‘You know that my uncle has been ill?’ she said.

‘No, I have heard nothing of that.’

Paula looked surprised.

‘Don’t you hear from—­from them?’