So a month went by, and the tangle grew, and Fulvia's birthday came near. There had been no more talk of the Continent for Mr. Browning. He was in no state for travelling. Neither had preparations been made for any merry-makings on the day itself; everybody seeming to be anxious only that it should be allowed to slip past as uneventfully as possible. "But I'll have a lawyer to look into things for the girl, or my name's not Carden-Cox!" the owner of that name muttered from time to time, choosing Daisy for his confidante. CHAPTER XVI ANTIQUITIES "A little learning is a dangerous thing: Drink deep: or taste not the Pierian spring." * * * * * * "Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found."—POPE. WITHIN two days of Fulvia's birthday, Daisy came sliding downstairs, leaning her whole weight upon the balusters, and ending with a ponderous leap of five steps at the bottom. She was addicted still to such little amusements when nobody was at hand to cry, "Oh!" Perhaps a certain sense of propriety, despite her objection to young-ladyism, made her dislike witnesses; and it was particularly provoking, when she rallied from her leap, to find Mr. Tom Elvey in the hall, pensively regarding her. He had a way of putting his head on one side when interested, and it was a good deal tilted at this moment. "Oh, it's Mr. Elvey!" said Daisy, recovering herself and assuming a wooden air. "Have you come to see Nigel?" "I—yes—I certainly came—to call," announced Tom. "Your brother was so good as to call upon me, I believe, the last time I was here." "He left his card." Daisy objected to Tom Elvey; and she was a downright young woman, priding herself on showing what she felt; so she folded her arms foot-man fashion, and held her chin stiffly. "True—yes—just so," assented Tom, studying Daisy with the mild wonder that he might have bestowed upon an infant kangaroo. She was quite a new "specimen" of humanity; rare in his experience. Tom thought her rather pretty, but her curt manner was perplexing. That it should spring from dislike to himself never entered into Tom's calculations. Tom had been accustomed to appreciation; and he expected it. "Yes," responded Daisy, more shortly still, wondering how he had found his way in. Possibly her glance from him to the door was readable, for Tom said apologetically, "I am afraid it was a liberty—rather. I—in fact, I—I could not make anybody hear. The bell was not answered, so I thought I had better open for myself?" "What could the servants be about?" demanded Daisy. She marched before Tom into the morning-room, where Fulvia sat painting flowers upon a screen, and Nigel stood, gloves in hand. Daisy had seen him enter a minute earlier, peeping over the balusters on her way down. She had no business to bring Mr. Elvey to this retreat, as she knew well enough; only she did not pause to think.