“No, indeed!  He is only not Jock—-”

“And I do not think my Sydney was knowingly fickle, but she thought she had utterly disgusted and offended Jock by her folly about the selling out, and that it was a failure of influence.  Poor child! it was all a cloud of shame and grief to her.  I think he would have dispelled it if he had come to the wedding, but as he did not—-”

“The Adriatic was free,” said Caroline, trying to smile.  “I see it all, dear Mrs. Evelyn.  I neither blame you nor Sydney; and I trust all will turn out right for my poor boy.”

“He deserves it!” said Mrs. Evelyn with a sigh.

There was a good deal more intercourse between Cavendish Square and Collingwood Street than Mother Carey had expected.  Mrs. Evelyn and her son and daughter fell into the habit of coming, when they went out for a drive, to see whether Mrs. Brownlow or Barbara would come with them; and as it was almost avowed that Babie was the object, she almost always went, and kept Fordham company in the carriage, whilst his mother and sister were shopping or making calls.  He had certainly lost much ground in these few weeks; he had ceased to ride, and never went out in the evening; but the doctors still said he might live for months or years if he avoided another English winter.  His mother was taking Sydney into society, and Esther was always happier when under their wing, being rather frightened by the admiration of which Cecil was so proud.  When they went out much before Fordham’s bed time, he was thankful for the companionship of Allen or Armine, generally the former, for Armine was reading hard, and working after lectures for a tutor; while Allen, unfortunately, had nothing to prevent him from looking in whenever Mrs. Evelyn was out, to play chess, read aloud, or assist in that re-editing of the cream of the “Traveller’s Joy,” which seemed the invalid’s great amusement.  Fordham had a few scruples at first, and when Allen had undertaken to come to him for the whole afternoon of a garden-party, he consulted Barbara whether it was not permitting too great a sacrifice of valuable time.

“You don’t mean that for irony?” said Babie.  “It is only so much time subtracted from tobacco.”

“Will you let me say something to you, Infanta?” returned Fordham, with all his gentleness.  “It seems to me that you are not always quite kind in your way of speaking of Allen.”

“If you knew how provoking he is!”

“I have a great fellow-feeling for him, having grown up the same sort of helpless being as he has been.  I should be much worse in his place.”

“Never!” cried Babie.  “You would never hang about the house, worrying mother about eating and fiddle-faddles, instead of doing any one useful thing!”

“But if one can’t?”

“I don’t believe in can’t.”

“Happy person!”

“Oh, Duke, you know I never meant health; you know I did not,” and then a pang shot across her as she remembered her past contempt of him whom she now reverenced.