Some ten days went by, and he paid a call at the hour sanctioned by society, five in the afternoon; it being Saturday.  One of his reasons for coming at this time was the hope that he might meet other callers, for he felt curious to see what sort of people visited the house.  And this wish was gratified.  On entering the drawing-room, whither he was led by the servant straightway, after the manner of the world, he found not only his cousin and her friend, but two strangers, ladies.  A glance informed him that both of these were young and good-looking, one being a type that particularly pleased him—­dark, pale, with very bright eyes.

Miss Barfoot received him as any hostess would have done.  She was her cheerful self once more, and in a moment introduced him to the lady with whom she had been talking—­the dark one, by name Mrs. Widdowson.  Rhoda Nunn, sitting apart with the second lady, gave him her hand, but at once resumed her conversation.

With Mrs. Widdowson he was soon chatting in his easy and graceful way, Miss Barfoot putting in a word now and then.  He saw that she had not long been married; a pleasant diffidence and the maidenly glance of her bright eyes indicated this.  She was dressed very prettily, and seemed aware of it.

‘We went to hear the new opera at the Savoy last night,’ she said to Miss Barfoot, with a smile of remembered enjoyment.

‘Did you?  Miss Nunn and I were there.’

Everard gazed at his cousin with humorous incredulity.

‘Is it possible?’ he exclaimed.  ‘You were at the Savoy?’

’Where is the impossibility?  Why shouldn’t Miss Nunn and I go to the theatre?’

‘I appeal to Mrs. Widdowson.  She also was astonished.’

‘Yes, indeed I was, Miss Barfoot!’ exclaimed the younger lady, with a merry little laugh.  ’I hesitated before speaking of such a frivolous entertainment.’

Lowering her voice, and casting a smile in Rhoda’s direction, Miss Barfoot replied,—­

’I have to make a concession occasionally on Miss Nunn’s account.  It would be unkind never to allow her a little recreation.’

The two at a distance were talking earnestly, with grave countenances.  In a few moments they rose, and the visitor came towards Miss Barfoot to take her leave.  Thereupon Everard crossed to Miss Nunn.

‘Is there anything very good in the new Gilbert and Sullivan opera?’ he asked.

‘Many good things.  You really haven’t been yet?’

‘No—­I’m ashamed to say.’

’Do go this evening, if you can get a seat.  Which part of the theatre do you prefer?’

His eye rested on her, but he could detect no irony.

’I’m a poor man, you know.  I have to be content with the cheap places.  Which do you like best, the Savoy operas or the burlesques at the Gaiety?’

A few more such questions and answers, of laboured commonplace or strained flippancy, and Everard, after searching his companion’s face, broke off with a laugh.