As Harry Brett talked and watched her he honestly tried not to wish that she might have been his wife, and when his resolution broke down he conscientiously talked on and did his best to interest himself in his own conversation. The effort was familiar to him of old, and had so often ended in failure that he was glad when the distant tinkle of the door bell announced the coming of a third person. John rarely lunched at home and old Mr. Darche was never summoned until the meal was served. Brett broke off in the middle of his story and laughed a little. "I believe you have not understood a word of what I have been telling you," he said. Mrs. Darche looked up suddenly, abandoned the study of the burning logs and leaned back in her chair before she answered. Then she looked at him quietly and smiled, not even attempting to deny the imputation. "It is very rude of me, is it not? You must forgive me, to-day. I am very much preoccupied." "You often are, nowadays," answered Brett, with a short, manlike sigh, which might have passed for a sniff of dissatisfaction. "I know I am. I am sorry." The door opened and Dolly Maylands entered the room, followed closely by Russell Vanbrugh. CHAPTER III. Simon Darche was undoubtedly a bore. Since bores exist and there is no other name for them, the strong word has some right to pass into the English language. The old gentleman belonged to the unconscious and self-complacent variety of the species, which is, on the whole, less unbearable than certain others. Generally speaking, it is true that people who are easily bored are bores themselves, but there are many very genuine and intolerable bores who go through life rejoicing and convinced that their conversation is a blessing and their advice a treasure to those who get it. Bores always have one or two friends. Simon Darche had found one in his daughter-in-law and he availed himself of her friendship to the utmost, so that it was amazing to see how much she could bear, for she was as constantly bored by him as other people, and appeared, indeed, to be his favourite victim. But no one had ever heard her complain. Day after day she listened to his talk, smiled at his old stories, read to him, and seemed rather to seek his society than to avoid it. She was never apparently tired of hearing about John's childhood and youth and she received the old man's often repeated confidences concerning his own life with an ever-renewed expression of sympathy. "I simply could not stand it for a day!" exclaimed Dolly occasionally. "Why, he is worse than my school children!" Miss Maylands could not put the case more strongly. Perhaps no one else could. "I like him," answered Mrs. Darche. "I know he is a bore. But then, I suppose I am a bore myself." "Oh, Marion!" And Dolly laughed.