The tentative towards sociability implied in this last speech is received by Jim in a discouraging silence. He has not the slightest desire to promote any overture on the part of Cecilia towards intimacy with Elizabeth. He knows that they would be unsuccessful; and, moreover, he is conscious that he would be annoyed if they were not. "I can fancy that this would be a very pleasant place if one had someone to go about with," continues she; "but father grows less and less inclined to move. Poor dear! he is not so young as he was, and I am not quite old enough yet, I suppose, to go about alone." She makes a rather wistful pause--a pause which he feels that she intends him to fill by an offer of himself as her escort. But none such comes. Realizing this, she goes on with a sigh: "There are not many advantages in being old; but, at least, one is freer, and in a youth spent as mine is, there is really not much profit or pleasure." The tone in which she makes this lugubrious reflection is so extremely doleful that Jim cannot refrain from a laugh. "Cheer up, old girl! there is a good time coming! It is a long lane that has no turning." But he contents himself with these vague forms of consolation. He has no engagements of his own. Why, then, is he conscious of so strong a reluctance towards tying himself by any promise to the broadly-hinting lady beside him? There is another pause, during which Cecilia looks down on the floor with a baffled air, and traces the outlines of the tiles with the point of her red sunshade. "There is a band plays twice a week in the Place de Gouvernement--plays admirably. Now, I suppose that there would be nothing odd; that no one could say anything; that it would not be the least improper, considering our connection and everything, if you were to take me to hear it some day?" "I never have the slightest idea of what is improper and what is not," replies he; but there is more of alarm than of encouragement in his tone. "No more have I"--laughing rather awkwardly--"but in this case I am pretty sure. Tuesdays and Fridays are the days on which the band plays." "Oh!" "To-day is Tuesday, is not it?" "Yes." Another pause. "I thought that perhaps, if you had nothing better to do, you might take me to-day?" The direct proposal which he has in vain tried to avert has come. If he accept it, of what profit to him will the absence of the Le Marchant parents be? He does not formulate this fact to himself, not having, indeed, owned to his own heart that he has any set design upon Elizabeth's company for the afternoon. "I am afraid----" he begins slowly. "You are vamping up an excuse!" cries Cecilia, reddening. "I see it in your eyes. You cannot have made any engagements here yet. You do not know anybody, do you, except the Le Marchants?" "And they have gone to Hammam Rhira," replies he precipitately. He is ashamed the moment that the words are out of his mouth, for he knows that they convey a falsehood.