Caerleon sighed contentedly, and leaned back in his chair. The room looked comfortable and home-like, very different from the gorgeous solitudes at the palace. The O’Malachy, white-haired and soldierly, with a sly twinkle in his eye, was the picture of a courteous host. Nadia sat close by, under the light, with her work; and Louis, buried in a Bellaviste weekly journal, seemed less out of harmony with his surroundings than usual. The place was a haven of rest. But rest in itself was not sufficient for complete happiness, and Caerleon’s state of contentment did not last long. Cyril, watching from the background, was no better pleased. Before the evening was over, he had lost patience altogether with Nadia. Why did she sit there stiffly, in the full blaze of the electric light, working with unremitting assiduity at some coarse and unlovely garment for the poor, and refusing to answer any remark except in monosyllables? She would not take Caerleon into the conservatory to show him the flowers, as he asked her, nor did she respond to her father’s suggestion that she should point out to him the view from the balcony. There she sat, never looking up, sewing away as if for dear life, and acting as an effectual damper on the conversation of the rest, while Cyril was longing for a smoke with Louis and his father, and one or two of the latter’s stories, which were not altogether suited for ladies’ ears. All that Caerleon wanted was to be left alone with her, but she succeeded in baffling all his efforts, and Cyril waxed furious over her foolishness. Did she really imagine that by dint of coyness and coldness she could keep her lover from making her an open avowal of his feelings? Surely she must know that he would insist upon a plain answer, and that it would be impossible to put him off for ever? Caerleon would hear her decision from her own lips at one time or another, and the sooner she dismissed him and bade him turn his mind to other subjects the better. These thoughts were seething in Cyril’s brain all the evening; but Nadia remained unconscious of their import and as immovable as before. The only time she exhibited any animation was when the brothers rose to go. “You have not seen much of this place yet,” she said to Caerleon as he bade her good-night, “but I have gone about a good deal yesterday and to-day. There is plenty for you to do. The drunkenness is awful. You have before you as much work as you can wish.” A chuckle from Louis followed her eager speech, and Caerleon had no opportunity to say more than that he would give his best attention to the matter, before Cyril hurried him away. They passed through the streets almost in silence, reached the palace without attracting notice, and after enduring patiently a long performance from the town band, went to bed. CHAPTER VII. CHECK.