Fulvia only laughed in response. She grew warmer still; and while other people were glad to don wraps, she pulled off even her cloth jacket, becoming a central figure, daintily attired. Nigel presently underwent some banter for his abstracted gaze at the hills, and to escape it, he came to her side. She was sitting apart from the rest; and again her heart gave so fierce a throb that she could hardly believe he would not hear. "Stupid! What has come over me?" she demanded angrily of herself, while looking up, and saying— "How thoroughly Malcolm is enjoying himself." "He has earned a few hours' rest if anybody ever did." "And he looks better for it already. When do we turn?" "Soon, I believe. The girls have been begging for another half-hour." "You will be glad to get back. After going round the world, a trip like this must seem hardly worth the trouble." "I don't think—" Nigel began and paused. "Isn't that it? But you certainly are a degree flat to-day—are you not?" He made no immediate response, seeming to consider what to say. And suddenly, without premeditation, Fulvia found herself remarking, "So Ethel could not come." "No," Nigel said slowly. "Very disappointing for her." "Yes." "Mrs. Elvey not well, you told us. But surely she might have spared Ethel." "Perhaps—yes—but that was not the only reason. A cousin was expected to lunch." "Which cousin? A young lady?" "No—the one from Australia." "Mr. Tom Elvey?" "His name is Tom, certainly." "I remember. He has been here once before; and they saw a good deal of him last summer. Yes; he seemed rather—" Fulvia did not finish her sentence. "Yes. You know something of him?" "Not much. Ethel talked about him to us. I believe he has made plenty of money out there. Perhaps he has come home for a wife." "A wife would not be hard to find; if he is not particular as to the description," Nigel said, with a short laugh. "He need not look far," Fulvia spoke, with more meaning in her tone than she was aware. "Do you think there is anything between him and Ethel?" Was this indifference—or was it—? Fulvia did not frame the question. She gave one swift glance at his face, noting its gravity. Like a flash came the thought of her midnight resolution to "smooth the way" for him and Ethel; to put self aside, and only to be happy in the knowledge that others were so. But with this recollection came also a sharp temptation. Why was she to do anything of the kind? Why need she act? Why not let things take their course? How could she tell whether Nigel did really care for Ethel? In any case, why must she help the thing on? Nay, if she could hinder it by a touch, why not? Hardly all this in words, for there was but a pause of two seconds; but the temptation was powerful, and Fulvia's resolution had been only her own. No panoply of heaven's armour shielded her. "What should make you suppose so?" she asked in an undertone, matching his. "I don't suppose. I asked what you thought."