‘I fear it is good-bye for me,’ Dacier said to her, as he was about to step into the carriage with the Esquarts.

‘If you have not better news of your uncle, it must be,’ she replied, and gave him her hand promptly and formally, hardly diverting her eyes from Lady Esquart to grace the temporary gift with a look.  The last of her he saw was a waving of her arm and finger pointing triumphantly at the Bell in the tower.  It said, to an understanding unpractised in the feminine mysteries:  ‘I can sleep through anything.’  What that revealed of her state of conscience and her nature, his efforts to preserve the lovely optical figure blocked his guessing.  He was with her friends, who liked her the more they knew her, and he was compelled to lean to their view of the perplexing woman.

‘She is a riddle to the world,’ Lady Esquart said, ’but I know that she is good.  It is the best of signs when women take to her and are proud to be her friend.’

My lord echoed his wife.  She talked in this homely manner to stop any notion of philandering that the young gentleman might be disposed to entertain in regard to a lady so attractive to the pursuit as Diana’s beauty and delicate situation might make her seem.

’She is an exceedingly clever person, and handsomer than report, which is uncommon,’ said Dacier, becoming voluble on town-topics, Miss Asper incidentally among them.  He denied Lady Esquart’s charge of an engagement; the matter hung.

His letters at Lugano summoned him to England instantly.

‘I have taken leave of Mrs. Warwick, but tell her I regret, et caetera,’ he said; ’and by the way, as my uncle’s illness appears to be serious, the longer she is absent the better, perhaps.’

‘It would never do,’ said Lady Esquart, understanding his drift immediately.  ’We winter in Rome.  She will not abandon us—­I have her word for it.  Next Easter we are in Paris; and so home, I suppose.  There will be no hurry before we are due at Cowes.  We seem to have become confirmed wanderers; for two of us at least it is likely to be our last great tour.’

Dacier informed her that he had pledged his word to write to Mrs. Warwick of his uncle’s condition, and the several appointed halting-places of the Esquarts between the lakes and Florence were named to him.  Thus all things were openly treated; all had an air of being on the surface; the communications passing between Mrs. Warwick and the Hon. Percy Dacier might have been perused by all the world.  None but that portion of it, sage in suspiciousness, which objects to such communications under any circumstances, could have detected in their correspondence a spark of coming fire or that there was common warmth.  She did not feel it, nor did he.  The position of the two interdicted it to a couple honourably sensible of social decencies; and who were, be it added, kept apart.  The blood is the treacherous element in the story of the nobly civilized, of which secret