Margaret had risen from the piano and was standing before the fire, and she watched him with mingled interest and surprise, as he neatly replaced the music in the rack, lowered the instrument, and carefully arranged the cover, with a habit of orderliness of which she had also seen indications in General Gaston. It was to her almost a new trait, in men. “Cousin Eugenia insists upon early hours, now that I am not going out,” said Margaret, “so, as it is half-past ten, I will say good-night. I feel rather guilty,” she added, pausing in the door-way, “for interrupting your work to-night. I dare say you wanted to finish it.” “Oh, as to that, it isn’t a matter of choice,” he murmured; “Ames must have those estimates to-morrow, and they are bound to go on the morning train.” “And when are they to be done?” “Now, at once. I can easily finish them off to-night,” he replied carelessly. “Pray don’t look as if you had committed a mortal sin, Miss Trevennon,” he added, smiling. “I assure you I don’t weigh this little nocturnal application as dust in the balance against the pleasure I’ve had in this musical evening with you. I hope it is not on my account you are hurrying off. I assure you there is abundance of time for my purposes. I shall take these papers to my room and finish them.” But Margaret, bent upon not hindering him further, retired at once. The next morning Mrs. Gaston asked her brother-in-law at breakfast, whether he had not passed her room about sunrise, and, with some confusion, he was compelled to own that he had. “What provoking ears you have, Eugenia!” he said; “I flattered myself that a mouse could not have been more noiseless. I am sorry to have disturbed you, especially as you had not been feeling well.” “Oh, I was awake, at any rate. But what was the occasion of your early expedition?” she asked, without showing any especial surprise. “I had to post some papers to Ames,” he said; “and though I had told Thomas I would ring for him to take them, the morning was so bright and clear that I fancied I should like the walk. And really it was most refreshing.” “I can fancy you needed refreshment,” Mrs. Gaston said, “if, as I don’t doubt, you had been at work all night.” Mr. Gaston made no response. He was helping himself from a dish offered by a servant at the moment, and seemed disposed to let the matter drop; but Margaret, urged by an irresistible impulse, arrested his eye and said quickly: “Had you?” “Had I what, Miss Trevennon?” “Had you been at work all night?” “Pretty much, I believe; but why do you look so tragic? I am not in delicate health, that the lack of a little sleep should entail serious consequences.”