Twice has the moon changed, and Mell is still at the Bigge House, showing up amid its polished refinements, as a choice bit of Corian faience contrasted with cut-glass. Every day she spoke of going, but every day there was some reason why she should not go and should stay. Mrs. Rutland wanted her to stay; and Mell herself, whatever her misgivings, whatever her struggles, whatever her trials, wanted, too, on the whole, to stay. Here was a congenial atmosphere of style and fashion, congenial occupation--or the congenial want of any, endless variety of amusement, the hourly excitement of spirited contact with kindred minds, and no vulgar father and mother to mortify her tender sensibilities. Here, too, she was in the presence of the one being on earth she most loved, and even to see him under cold restraint, was better than not to see him at all. Sometimes it happened they sat near each other for a few blissful seconds; sometimes it was a stolen look into each other's eyes; sometimes an accidental touch of the hand when Jerome was initiating the ladies into the ingenious methods of a fore-overhand stroke or a back-underhand stroke, or the effective results of skillful volleying--such casual trifles as these, unnoticed by others, but more precious to them than "the golden wedge of Ophir." So the days passed on; rainy days, dry days, clear days, cloudy days, bright days, dark days, every kind of day, and every one of them a day's march nearer the imperishable day. "There's a messenger outside, Miss Mellville, to say that your father is sick and wishes you to come home." Jerome, it was, who spoke. "Father sick!" exclaimed Mell. "I will go at once." "How provoking!" broke in Mrs. Rutland. "I wanted you particularly to-day. Rube, too. Don't you remember he wants you to go to Pudney?" "Yes, yes," interrupted Mell hastily. She did not wish Mrs. Rutland to say before Jerome what Rube wanted her to go there for. It was to have her picture taken. "I am very sorry, but if father is really sick I ought to go." "Rhesus is under saddle," said Jerome. "Shall I ride over and find out just how he is? I can do so in a very few minutes." "No!" said Mell, with quick speech and restrained emphasis. Whom would he see there? What would he hear? Her mother in an old cotton frock, talking bad grammar. And Jerome was so delicate in his tastes, so fastidious and aesthetic. "No," said Mell, decidedly. "I'm much obliged, but--" "Yes," interposed Mrs. Rutland, "I wish you would go, for Rube is not here and I've no notion of letting Mell go unless it is necessary." "Did you say I must not?" inquired Jerome, addressing Mell and not moving. "Go, if Mrs. Rutland wishes it," stammered Mell, furiously angry with herself that she could not utter such commonplace words to him without getting all in a tremor. They were all blind, these people, or they must have seen, long ago, how it stood with Jerome and herself. He was back in an incredibly short space of time.