In a chair opposite to her sat a man of rather more than thirty, who looked thirty-five or even forty when the little light from the curtained windows fell upon his dark face, and showed the gray threads that were beginning to appear in his moustache. If he had been a woman, he would have sat with his back to the window, as Florence was doing now. But Hubert Lepel was not at all the man to think about his appearance, or to regret the fact, if he did think about it, that he looked more than his age. He had found it rather an advantage to him during the last few years. Florence had not seen him for some time, and she commented silently and acutely on the change in his appearance. He had a subtle face, she thought--keen, stern, sardonic--too deeply furrowed for a man of his years, too haggard to be exactly handsome, but certainly very interesting, especially to the mind of a woman who had seen little of the world. This was as it should be. She smiled to herself; she was a born plotter, and she had a scheme for Hubert's benefit now. It was only fair that he should partake of the good fortune that had fallen to her lot. "It was kind of you to come," she was saying languidly, "for I know that you don't care for Beechfield." "No," he said; "I prefer London on the whole." "And foreign travel. It is quite extraordinary to think how little you have been in England for the last few years! I have not seen you for--how long, Hubert?" "Three years, I believe." "And then only for an hour or two in London, at intervals of six months! I hope that you are going to be a little more sociable now, and run down to see us occasionally." The brother and sister looked at each other steadily for a moment without speaking. Each knew well enough what was in the other's mind. "Yes," said Hubert at last, in a peculiarly light and careless voice, "I think I shall." He crossed his legs, and settled himself into an easier position in his chair. "Beechfield is not a bad place to stay at for a few days--or even a few weeks--now and then. And you seem very comfortable, Florence." "Yes," she said, "I am comfortable. The General is very kind." "And you have a fine boy--a nice little chap," said Hubert, still lightly. "Yes; he is a healthy child," she answered, in the mechanical way in which she had spoken before. Hubert gave her a keen glance. He looked at the long but not ungraceful lines of her slender figure, at the blue veins which showed themselves in the dead white of her hands, at the shade beneath her eyes, and knitted his brows a trifle impatiently. Then he spoke in lowered tones which betrayed some suppressed emotion. "You have gained all that you wanted," he said--"you ought to be satisfied." She stirred a little in her chair, and allowed a faint smile to appear upon her lips. "And you," she said, "are a very successful man. How many nights did your last play run? You are popular; you have made money; you ought to be satisfied too."