Miss Wynter’s white eyelids drooped, but quivered not. Her fingers flew in and out of the scarlet wool, and the ivory needles made a pleasant, dull clicking. What she thought with cold annoyance was, that Eleanor was impertinent and inquisitive, devoid of tact and _savoir faire_. (No one knew better than Eleanor herself that her present conduct was scarcely conventional, but she felt that she did not much care what it was, so long as she rode away from Balder Hall possessed of definite views as to Magdalen’s goodness or badness, and she rather hoped the conversation would disclose badness.) If the young woman were put down at once and promptly, Magdalen argued, she might perhaps profit by the lesson; if not, if encouraged in the least, she was almost certain to become very troublesome. So she said— ‘My dear child, you surely do not suppose that because a man comes once or twice a week and chats with one for an hour or two, or even spends a whole afternoon in one’s society, that he necessarily reveals to one anything of his real habits or character?’ ‘It depends on what his habits may be, of course,’ said Eleanor with gravity; and, in spite of telling herself that she was acting a part, she felt a vague uneasiness, which vexed her like a coming trouble whenever any question arose of Otho and his doings. It was not the first time she had felt it. Dim reports of his fastness and strange habits had penetrated even to her well-sheltered home with the Stanleys; and more than once her uncle had said to her, ‘My dear, I’m afraid your brother spends a good deal of money in a very reckless way.’ ‘It depends on what his habits may be,’ she repeated; ‘but he could not come so often as that and not show something of his character—or disposition, perhaps I should say.’ ‘Well, you will see him daily, now that you have come to live with him—possibly for many hours in each day. I see him, at the most, once or twice a week, for an hour, or perhaps two hours. It is obvious that your opportunities will be incomparably greater than mine have been. Don’t you think you had better study his character at first hand—if you are interested in it, that is?’ ‘If I am interested—in my own brother?’ ‘I see you have very enthusiastic ideas, and quite orthodox ones, about brothers and sisters loving each other, however dissimilar in character and disposition they may be’ (Eleanor repressed a smile. She had not expressed any such views), ‘just because they are brothers and sisters. But, you know, it is not wise to take your impressions of any one in whom you are interested from a third person. How can you know what feelings and what motives might influence me in speaking to you of him——’ ‘Oh, Miss Wynter, would Otho have brought me here if you had had a bad influence over him? He thinks so much of you,’ said Eleanor, seeing that Magdalen had accepted her (Eleanor’s) presentation of herself, and feeling that her _rôle_ was now an easy one to play.