Geoffrey Milnes engaged! She had never thought of that. Yet why should he not think of marrying, just as she herself had done? Why should the thought of his possible marriage cause her heart to sink like a leaden weight? Why should it? But it did. Since her engagement with David Salmon had been broken off, she had allowed her mind to dwell once more on her old-time friendship with Dr. Milnes. She was looking forward with almost feverish eagerness to his return, and tried to imagine the joy of their meeting. But, if he came back as the lover or husband of some one else! She could scarcely bear to think of it. Gladys rattled on with her inexhaustible stock of light chatter, not noticing her friend’s sudden pensiveness. She could talk of nothing else but the ball, and favoured Enid Wilton--who was also to be a guest--with a full account of the people who would be there, whilst Celia sat quite quiet, thinking of Miss Thornton. When the eventful day arrived, Enid was confined to her room with a cold. Her going to the ball was quite out of the question, and in consequence thereof, Celia refused to go either. In vain did Enid protest, and beg her friend not to forego her amusement for her sake. Celia would not be persuaded, and declared that she was not at all anxious to go. She had been to so many dances during the “season” that she had outgrown her liking for them. As soon as her decision was made, she went downstairs to inform her brother. She found him in the studio, putting the finishing touches to the paintings for the Duke of Downshire’s chapel, prior to their being despatched the following day. There were five of them altogether, all representing incidents of Gospel history. “I was just thinking of sending an invitation to Mendel’s people to come and have a private view,” he said facetiously. “Do you think they would accept it, Celia?” “I think they would injure the pictures if they did come,” she rejoined seriously. “And that would be a pity, for they are beautiful things. I like the ‘Annunciation’ the best. You have made the angel Gabriel’s wings quite translucent. You did not paint this one, did you, Herbert?” pointing to an unframed representation of the Crucifixion, which struck her as being somewhat musty in comparison with the others. The artist smiled. “No, I wish I had,” he replied enthusiastically. “That is a real Raffaelle, my dear. It belongs to the duke, who lent it me as a guide. I had better put it away while I think of it. I wouldn’t have anything happen to that for the world.” Suiting the action to the word, he wrapped the painting in an holland covering, then placed it carefully in the cupboard under lock and key. The other pictures he left where they were: one on the easel, and the others on the floor facing the French windows.