Mary had sat silently, with her hands clasped across her knees, while her aunt placidly poured forth these and similar comments (which were interspersed by questions and sympathetic monosyllables from Rainham), not so much acrimoniously, as in the tone of the humorous reporter, who is too indifferent to be actuated by a sense of injury. The girl struck him as having grown tired and listless--more listless than a merely physical fatigue would warrant. He interrupted now to ask her with a touch of compassion if she too had been very much bored. Her fine eyes were averted as she answered him, smiling a little: "I am rather glad to be back. It was a pretty place, and the gardens were charming, when it did not rain." Lady Garnett was overheard to murmur into the black ear of Mefistofele that it always rained. "But on the whole--yes, I was rather bored," the girl continued abruptly. "The rain and the round games and the people?" Rainham echoed. "You have my sympathy." "I believe I rather liked the round games," said Mary, with a little laugh. "They were less tiresome than the rest; and the organ was a great solace; it was very perfect." "Ah, yes, she liked the round games," put in Lady Garnett; "and if two of her admirers had played them more, and turned over her music less, the organ might have been a greater solace." "They were very foolish," sighed the girl rather wearily. "Mr. Sylvester was there for the last fortnight," continued Lady Garnett, with some malice. "He succeeded Lord Overstock, as Mary's musical acolyte. In revenge, Lord Overstock wished to teach her baccarat, and Mr. Sylvester remonstrated. It was sublime! It was the one moment of amusement vouchsafed me." Mary flushed, locking her hands together nervously, with a trace of passion. "It was ridiculous! intolerable! He had no right----!" Lady Garnett bent forward, taking her hand. "Forgive me, _cherie_! I did not mean to annoy you.... You can imagine how glad we were to see you," she added, with a sudden turn to Rainham. "It was charming of you to call so soon; you could hardly have expected to find us." "You must not give me too much credit. I happened to be quite near, in Harley Street. I could not pass without inquiring." "Ah, well," she said, "since you are here----" She was looking absently away from him into an antique, silver basket which lay on the little table by her side, in which were miscellaneous trifles, odd pieces of lace, thimbles which she never used, a broken fan, a box of chocolates. "Mary, my dear," she said quickly, "I am so stupid! The old _bonbonniere_, with the brilliants? I must have left it on my dressing-table, or somewhere. That new housemaid--we really know nothing about her--it would be such a temptation. Would you mind----" "Is this----" Rainham began, and stopped short.