He stopped, and Cara did not ask him to go on. There was a little doubt in the repetition of the name. ‘But Oswald----’ What was he going to say? She was too shy, too conscious, to ask. Cara did not blush, even in this shadowy way, when Oswald spoke to her, but she had a vague sense that perhaps he would be pleased to make her blush, would like to move her. She was far more clear-sighted about him than about Edward. Just as she knew her own power over Roger, she knew that Oswald would be pleased to have a like power over herself. She did not discriminate these fine differences of sentiment in words, but she was aware of them, without attempting definition. She could play upon Roger if she pleased as upon an instrument, and Oswald was trying, and would like, to bring music out of her in the same way. She knew this instinctively, and perhaps Cara would not have been very much surprised to be told that Oswald was ‘in love’ with her; but about Edward she had no insight, no theory. He was kind, and she could talk to him and open her heart; that was all she knew. Just then they were interrupted by the entrance of Oswald himself, who came in, as he had got into the habit of doing, after his late breakfast. ‘Hallo, Ned, you here!’ he said, in a tone of surprise. He was not by any means delighted by the appearance of his brother. ‘I did not expect to find you occupied so early,’ he said to Cara. ‘Have you had the bear at your levee, too? I hope he has recovered his temper this morning. If your natives in Berkshire are all of that complexion, Cara, I don’t wonder you are glad to get away.’ ‘Poor Roger! he did not mean to be rude. Did Mrs. Meredith think he was a bear?’ ‘Oh, my mother! She would not be the universal charmer she is if she was not something of a hypocrite,’ said Oswald. ‘You may be sure she will not allow that any of her visitors is ever disagreeable. I suppose Ned brought you her message about going out? Then I need not repeat it. And there is to be a tea-drinking to-morrow, Cara, with all sorts of strange beasts--authors and authoresses, and that kind of people. If you will keep close to me I’ll tell you who they are. It will be a very funny company.’ ‘But, Oswald, I thought you were an author, too. Why do you laugh at them? I should have thought there would be sympathy----’