Roland Tresham stares at his new acquaintance with unmitigated surprise. Miss Moore is a tall, dark girl with a commanding figure, clad in a pale, cream-coloured dress that fits it like a skin. Her rounded arms, her well-developed bust and shapely waist are as distinctly displayed as if the material had been strained across them; and the uninitiated Roland gazes at her in astonishment. ‘Such a sweet girl,’ whispers Mrs Carnaby-Hicks to him, as Mabel quits her side; ‘I love her as if she were my daughter. As soon as the season is over, Mr Carnaby-Hicks and I are going to take her for a tour in Italy. And, by the way, Roland, could you not manage to accompany us? A second gentleman would be a great acquisition on the journey, and you would be invaluable to Mabel and me as a _cicerone_. Do come!’ ‘You might as well talk of my going to the moon, Valeria. I should enjoy it above all things, but it is impossible. Only fancy the delight though of change of scene and air and freedom from all the horrors of Camden Town. It would be like a taste of Heaven to me!’ ‘I am sure you could manage it if you tried! Come here, Mabel, and persuade my brother to join us in our trip to Italy.’ ‘Oh! Mr Tresham, _do_ come,’ says Mabel, throwing a glance at him from a pair of dark, languishing eyes. ‘It will double Aunt Valeria’s pleasure to have your company.’ Roland Tresham has not, as a rule, admired dark eyes in women nor commanding figures. His wife is very fair, and slight and fragile in appearance, and when he married her eight years before, he thought her the loveliest creature God ever made. But as Mabel Moore casts her black-lashed eyes upon him, he feels a very strong desire to join the travelling party to Italy. ‘You hold out powerful temptations to me, Miss Moore,’ he answers, ‘but it is too important a matter to be settled in a day. But if I _can_ go, you may be sure I will.’ And then he falls to wondering whether Mrs Carnaby-Hicks intends her offer to be taken as an invitation, and means to defray his expenses. For she must know he has no money to pay them himself. Meanwhile Miss Moore pours out his tea, and hands it to him in a porcelain cup with the most gracious and encouraging of smiles. It is a strange contrast to the man who knows what he will encounter on reaching home, to be seated among all the refinement of his sister’s drawing-room, sipping the most fragrant Pekoe from a costly piece of china, whilst he is waited on by a handsome woman clad in a cream-coloured skin, every fold of the train of which shakes out the essence of a subtle perfume. He revels in it whilst it lasts, though after a while he rises with a sudden sigh of recollection, and says he must be going home. ‘Don’t forget to ask Hicks about the appointment,’ he whispers to his sister as he takes his leave. ‘Remember, I will take anything and go anywhere just to get away from this.’