The event of to-day began with the delivery of a message summoning me to my father’s study. He had decided—too hastily, as I feared—that he was sufficiently¹ recovered to resume his usual employments. I was writing to his dictation, when we were interrupted. Maria announced a visit from Mr. Dunboyne.

Hitherto Philip had been content to send one of the servants of the hotel to make inquiry² after Mr. Gracedieu’s health. Why had he now called personally? Noticing that father seemed to be annoyed, I tried to make an opportunity of receiving Philip myself. “Let me see him,” I suggested; “I can easily say you are engaged.”

Very unwillingly³, as it was easy to see, my father declined to allow this. “Mr. Dunboyne’s visit pays me a compliment,” he said; “and I must receive him.” I made a show of leaving the room, and was called back to my chair. “This is not a private interview, Helena; stay where you are.”

Philip came in—handsomer than ever, beautifully dressed—and paid his respects to my father with his customary grace. He was too well-bred to allow any visible signs of embarrassment⁴ to escape him. But when he shook hands with me, I felt a little trembling in his fingers, through the delicate gloves which fitted him like a second skin. Was it the true object of his visit to try the experiment designed by Eunice and himself, and deferred⁵ by the postponement⁶ of our dinner-party? Impossible surely that my sister could have practiced on his weakness, and persuaded him to return to his first love! I waited, in breathless interest, for his next words. They were not worth listening to. Oh, the poor commonplace creature!

“I am glad, Mr. Gracedieu, to see that you are well enough to be in your study again,” he said. The writing materials on the table attracted his attention. “Am I one of the idle people,” he asked, with his charming smile, “who are always interrupting useful employment?”

He

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