“But still you remained,” said she, with a sort of pique. “_Ma foi!_ What was to be done? The excellent man got into a story of his adventures, a narrative of a shipwreck which had not--as I was cruel enough to regret--befallen him, and which, I verily believe, might have lasted all night, if, by some lucky chance, he had not approached so near a topic of some delicacy, or reserve, that your brother-in-law closed ‘the séance,’ and stopped him; and to this accident I owe my freedom.” “I wonder what it could have been!” “I cannot give you the faintest clue to it. Indeed, I can’t fashion to my imagination what are called family secrets--very possibly because I never had a family.” Though Georgina maintained the conversation for some time longer, keeping up that little game of meaningless remark and reply which suffices for tea-table talk, her whole mind was bent upon what could possibly be the mystery he alluded to. Taking the opportunity of a moment when Sir Within was addressing a remark to Lady Vyner, she moved half carelessly away towards the fireplace, where Mr. M’Kinlay sipped his tea in solitude, Sir Gervais being deep in the columns of an evening paper. “I suppose you are very tired, Mr. M’Kinlay?” said she; and simple as were the words, they were uttered with one of those charming smiles, that sweet captivation of look and intonation, which are the spells by which fine ladies work their miracles on lesser mortals; and, as she spoke, she seated herself on a sofa, gracefully drawing aside the folds of her ample dress, to convey the intimation that there was still place for another. While Mr. M’Kinlay looked rather longingly at the vacant place, wondering whether he might dare to take it, a second gesture, making the seat beside her still more conspicuous, encouraged him, and he sat down, pretty much with the mixed elation and astonishment he might have felt had the Lord Chancellor invited him to a place beside him on the woolsack. “I am so sorry not to have heard your account--the most interesting account, my brother tells me--of your late journey,” began she; “and really, though the recital must bring back very acute pain, I am selfish enough to ask you to brave it.” “I am more than repaid for all, Miss Courtenay, in the kind interest you vouchsafe to bestow on me.” After which she smiled graciously, and seemed a little--a very little--flurried, as though the speech savoured of gallantry, and then, with a regained serenity, she went on, “You narrowly escaped shipwreck, I think?” “So narrowly, that I believe every varying emotion that can herald in the sad catastrophe passed through me, and I felt every pang, except the last of all.” “How dreadful! Where did it happen?”