While Hyacinth, whose very existence he had forgotten in the shock and anger of this news, was feeling, with the agonising clairvoyance of love, that Cecil was with Mrs Raymond, she was perfectly right. Today Eugenia was at home, and did not refuse to see him. 'I see you know,' she remarked coolly as he came in. Cecil had controlled his emotion when with his uncle, but seeing Mrs Raymond again in the dismal little old drawing-room dealt him a terrible blow. He saw, only too vividly, the picture of his suave, exquisite uncle, standing out against this muddled, confused background, in the midst of decoration which was one long disaster and furniture that was one desperate failure. To think that the owner of Selsey House had spent hours here! The thought was jealous agony. 'I must congratulate you,' he said coldly. 'Thank you, Cecil.' 'I thought you were never going to marry again?' he said sarcastically. 'I never do, as a rule. But this is an exception. And it isn't going to be like an ordinary marriage. We shall each have complete freedom. He persuaded me--to look after that lovely house. It will give me an object in life. And besides, Cecil,' she was laughing, 'think--to be your aunt! The privilege!' He seized her by the shoulders. She laughed still more, and put one hand on the bell, at which he released her. He walked away so violently that he knocked down a screen. 'There, that will do,' said Eugenia, picking it up. 'You've made your little scene, and shown your little temper, and that's enough. Sit down,' she commanded. Cecil sat down, feeling a complete fool. 'Look here. I daresay that it's a little annoying for you, at first, especially as you introduced us; but really, when you come to think it over, there's no law of etiquette, or any other that I know of, which compels me to refuse the uncle of a young man who has done me the honour to like me. Oh, Cecil, don't be absurd!' 'Are you in love with him?' 'No. But I think he will be very pleasant--not worrying and fidgeting--so calm and kind. I refused at first, Cecil. People always want what they can't get, and if it's any satisfaction to you, I don't mind confessing that I have had, for years, a perfect mania for somebody else. A hopeless case for at least three reasons: he's married, he's in love with someone else (not even counting his wife, who counts a great deal) and, if he hadn't either of these preoccupations, he would never look at me. So I've given it up. I've made up my mind to forget it. Your uncle will help me, and give me something else to think about.' 'Who was the man?' Cecil asked. It was some slight satisfaction to know that she also had had a wasted affection. 'Why should I tell you? I shall not tell you. Well, I will tell you. It's Sir Charles Cannon.' 'Old Cannon?'