There were other times, other opportunities for philandering (_she_ does not give it this unpleasant name); how has he spent them?--A vague thought of Miss Maliphant crosses her mind. That he laughs at the plain, good-natured heiress to her (Joyce), had not prevented the fact that he is very attentive to her at times. Principally such times as when Joyce may reasonably be supposed to be elsewhere. Human reason, however, often falls short of the mark, and there have been unsuspected moments during the past week when Miss Kavanagh has by chance appeared upon the scene of Mr. Beauclerk's amusements, and has found that Miss Maliphant has had a good deal to do with them. But then--"That poor, good girl you know!" Here, Beauclerk's joyous laugh would ring forth for Joyce's benefit. "_Such_ a good girl; and so--er--_don't_ you know!" He was certainly always a little vague. He didn't explain himself. Miss Kavanagh, looking back on all he had ever said against the heiress, is obliged to confess to herself that the great "er" had had to express everything. Contempt, dislike, kindly disdain--he was always _kindly_--he made quite a point of _that_. Truly, thinks Miss Kavanagh to herself after this retrospective glance, "er" is the greatest word in the English language! And so it is. It declares. It conceals. It conveys a laugh. It suggests a frown. It helps a sorrowful confession. It adorns a lame one. It is kindly, as giving time. It is cruel, as being full of sarcasm. It----In fact what is it it _cannot_ do? Joyce's feet have grown quite steady now. She has placed her hands on the table behind her, and thus compelled to lean a little forward, stands studying the carpet without seeing it. A sense of anger, of _shame_ against herself is troubling her. If he should _not_ be in earnest! If he should not--like her as she likes him! She rouses herself suddenly as if stung by some thought. "Like" _is_ the word. It has gone no deeper yet. It _shall_ not. He is handsome, he has his charm, but if she is not all the world to him, why, he shall not be all the world to _her_. If it is money he craves, for the restoration of that old home of his, why money let it be. But there, shall not be the two things, the desire of one for filthy lucre, the desire of the other for love. He shall decide. She has grown very pale. She has drawn herself up to her full height, and her lips are pressed together. And now a strange thought comes to her. If--_if_ she loved him, could she bear thus to analyze him. To take him to pieces, to dissect him as it were? Once again that feeling of fear oppresses her. Is she so cold, so deliberate in herself that she suspects others of coldness. After all--if he does love her--if he only hesitates because---- _A step outside the door!_