Muriel rose and looked out of the window. It was still raining heavily. “Well?” she said a little wearily. “They say this is a mere whim of yours to bring Jack Hurstly to book.” The girl by the window stood quite still. She did not see the children in the yard below playing cheerfully in the gutter; she did not even notice one of her most hopeful cases reel across the court in a condition which would have filled her soul with pity and disgust two minutes before. Her uncle thought her cold and indifferent, or possibly sullen. “Yes!” he said bitterly, “that is the sort of thing, Muriel, that your conduct forces me to put up with.” Muriel faced him suddenly. “Mrs. le Mentier,” she said quietly, “is——” she paused, “is very much mistaken if she thinks such absurd rumors have power to affect me; and I do not think you need be put out by what she says, for nobody who knows either Captain Hurstly or myself would believe her.” Her uncle rose to his feet. “You seem to be in a very bad temper, Muriel,” he said. “I knew what would be the result of your taking up this work. But it’s very depressing to _me_. I shall go home—when you come to a proper frame of mind, let me know.” She ran forward and kissed him. “But _you_ do love me, don’t you?” she whispered. “Of course, Muriel, if you would only give up your absurd whim.” She drew back a little. “Mind the stairs,” she laughed; “and oh, whatever you do, don’t tread on the blackbeetle.” She watched him cross the yard, and bowl off in a hansom. Somehow she felt very forlorn and lonely all by herself. She was startled to feel a tear-drop on her hand. “Nonsense!” she said; “it’s time for the girls’ cooking class!” She gave herself a little shake and put on her things. She found herself saying as she left the room, “If Jack thinks so I’ll never, never speak to him again.” She was a little impatient at the cooking class. CHAPTER III “And custom lies upon thee with a weight: heavy as frost, and deep almost as life.” “YOU are quite right in thinking I care for her, Mrs. Huntly, and have done ever since I knew her,” said Jack Hurstly, looking hard at an inoffensive poker. “But there’s no doing anything with her. I am not earnest enough, it seems. She objects to my club, my sport, and all my set. I believe she even objects to my regiment. At any rate she thinks I am wasting my time here in England, and ought to be sweating in some beastly tropics—Heaven knows why!” “So you ought, Jack, so you ought,” said Mrs. Huntly soothingly. “Muriel is quite right. It’s positively shameful the lives our society young men lead. A horse, a gun, a club and a dress-suit, what a catalogue of occupations! Can you increase it?” “Oh, well,” said her companion rather sheepishly, “I’m no worse than the other fellows, am I, Mrs. Huntly?”