“Ah—­and why didn’t you have a pianista-pianola!” said Adderley.  They all laughed,—­and then at Maryllia’s suggestion, joined the rest of the guests in the garden.

That same evening when Maryllia was dressing for dinner, there came a tap at her bedroom door, and in response to her ‘Come in!’ Eva Beaulyon entered.

“May I speak to you alone for a minute?” she said.

Maryllia assented, giving a sign to her maid to leave the room.

“Well, what is it, Eva?” said Maryllia, when the girl had gone—­ “Anything wrong?”

Eva Beaulyon sank into a chair somewhat wearily, and her beautiful violet eyes, despite artistic ‘touching up’ looked hard and tired.

“Not so far as I am concerned,”—­she said, with a little mirthless laugh—­“Only I think you behaved very oddly this afternoon.  Do you really mean that you object to Bridge on Sundays, or was it only a put on?”

“It was a put off!” responded Maryllia, gaily—­“It stopped the intended game!  Seriously, Eva, I meant it and I do mean it.  There’s too much Bridge everywhere—­and I don’t think it necessary,—­I don’t think it even decent—­to keep it going on Sundays.”

“I suppose the parson of your parish has told you that!” said Lady Beaulyon, suddenly.

Maryllia’s eyes met hers with a smile.

“The parson of the parish has not presumed to dictate to me on my actions,”—­she said—­“I should deeply resent it if he did.”

“Well, he had no eyes for anyone but you in the church this morning.  A mole could have seen that in the dark.  He was preaching at us and for you all the while!”

A slight flush swept over Maryllia’s cheeks,—­then she laughed.

“My dear Eva!  I never thought you were imaginative!  The parson has nothing whatever to do with me,—­why, this is the first Sunday I have ever been to his church,—­you know I never go to church.”

Lady Beaulyon looked at her narrowly, unconvinced.

“What have you left your aunt for?” she asked.

“Simply because she wants me to marry Roxmouth, and I won’t!” said Maryllia, emphatically.

“Why not?”

“First, because I don’t love him,—­second, because he has slandered me by telling people that I am running after his title, to excuse himself for running after Aunt Emily’s millions; and lastly, but by no means leastly, because he is—­unclean.”

“All men are;” said Eva Beaulyon, drily—­“It’s no use objecting to that!”

Maryllia made no remark.  She was standing before her dressing-table, singing softly to herself, while she dexterously fastened a tiny diamond arrow in her hair.

“I suppose you’re going to try and ‘live good’ down here!”—­went on Lady Beaulyon, after a pause—­“It’s a mistake,—­no one born of human flesh and blood can do it.  You can’t ‘live good’ and enjoy yourself!”

“No?” said Maryllia, tentatively.