‘We shall leave in the middle of next week for certain. I shall be very sorry for some reasons, for I have been happy here.’ ‘I shall probably return with you,’ Maxwell observed. ‘I have deferred my departure too long already. It would be pleasant to leave together.’ ‘After learning everything that Rome could teach you,’ Enid put in archly. ‘Then the Eternal City has no more artistic knowledge to impart?’ ‘Yes; I have learned some lessons here,’ Maxwell replied with a tender inflection, ‘besides artistic ones. I have been learning one lately that I am never likely to forget. Am I presumptuous, Miss Enid?’ ‘Really, Mr Maxwell, you are too mysterious. If I could understand you’—— ‘I think you do understand me; I fervently hope you do.’ For a moment, a little wild-rose bloom trembled and flushed on the girl’s cheek, then she looked down, playing with her fan nervously. No reason to say she did not understand now. Maxwell did not follow up his advantage; some instinct warned him not; and adroitly changing the conversation, he told her of his life in Rome, each passing moment linking his chains the firmer. Gradually, as they sat talking, a group of men gathered round, breaking in upon their tête-à-tête, laughing and talking after the most approved drawing-room fashion. In a distant corner, Sir Geoffrey had button-holed Le Gautier, and was apparently deep in conversation on some all-absorbing subject. The Frenchman was a good listener, with that rare faculty of hearing all that was worthy of note and entirely ignoring the superfluous. He was not a man to talk much of himself, and consequently heard a great deal of family history; details and information that astute young man had found valuable on occasions. He was interested now, Maxwell thought, as he idly speculated upon his face. ‘Yes,’ Sir Geoffrey was saying, ‘I am firmly impressed with that belief.’ He had got upon his favourite topic, and was talking with great volubility. ‘There are certain gifted beings who can call spirits from the vasty deep, and, what is more, the spirits will come. My dear sir, they have been manifested to me.’ ‘I should not wonder,’ Le Gautier replied, stifling a yawn in its birth. ‘I think you are quite right. I am what people call a medium myself, and have assisted at many a séance.’ ‘Of course you believe the same as I. Let unbelievers scoff if they will, I shall always believe the evidence of my eyes.’ ‘Of course,’ Le Gautier returned politely, his thoughts wandering feebly in the direction of nightmare, and looking round for some means of escape. ‘I have seen ghosts myself, or thought I have.’ ‘It is no imagination, Le Gautier,’ Sir Geoffrey continued, with all the prosy earnestness of a man with a hobby. ‘The strangest coincidence happened to me. My late brother, Sir Ughtred, who has been dead nearly twenty years, manifested himself to me the other night. Surely that implies some coming evil, or some duty I have neglected?’