‘To my uncle--oh no! He is very fond of him, and very respectful to him,’ said Adrienne, demurely, a curious little smile quivering about the corners of her mouth. ‘Then why does he select myself as the object of his hatred--for I am sure he does hate me?’ ‘He--because----’ ‘Because?’ ‘I cannot explain. Only he does not hate you.’ ‘I am convinced you could tell me all about it if you would, so, as you will not, I must find it out in my own way. I am determined I will learn the reason of his aversion to me--and will overcome it.’ ‘Oh, don’t! Pray let him alone. He is best let alone.’ Sebastian smiled. ‘You seem to be well acquainted with what is best for him--though you have only known him a few weeks. If you have succeeded in making a friend of him, why should not I?’ ‘I would not go too far. Remember, he, as well as you, has a right to choose his own friends, and if he does not choose you for one of them, you have no right to----’ ‘Importune him? No. You are quite right,’ he said, rising. ‘But there is society of a different stamp from Myles Heywood, even in Thanshope. Would you have any objection to my mother calling upon you?’ ‘Mrs. Mallory--objection? Not the least. I should be delighted. But don’t you think, if she had wished for my acquaintance, she would have called before?’ ‘She was ignorant that you lived here. She thought Mr. Blisset’s household was quite without ladies. I expect she will call upon you within the next few days.’ ‘I shall be happy to see her,’ said Adrienne, politely, but not enthusiastically; and he could read nothing from her eyes, as they answered his inquiring gaze. She roused her uncle from his abstraction, and Sebastian dropped her hand with a smile. After all, he told himself, it was absurd to think seriously of Myles Heywood as a rival--quite absurd. A high cultivation like Adrienne’s--and how different she was from that little dark-eyed Helena, with her vehemence and her disorganised ideas as to women’s rights and man’s selfishness--could surely never feel any real affinity with that untamed, untutored specimen of humanity, Myles Heywood. There might be plenty of force about him, but force without culture is apt to get uncomfortable. Amidst earnest requests from Mr. Blisset that he would speedily renew his visit, and equally earnest assurances on his part that he would do so, Sebastian departed. * * * * * In the Oakenrod drawing-room, Mrs. Mallory by the fire, with a novel and the feathery screen; Hugo gloating over a copy of the original edition of Bewick’s ‘Birds,’ the like of which treasure, he considered, he had never seen before: for the rest silence. ‘You have been out all the evening?’ inquired Mrs. Mallory, languidly, as she looked up. ‘Yes, I have been at Mr. Blisset’s.’ Hugo looked up. ‘Mother, do you ever call at Mr. Blisset’s house?’ ‘No. Soon after he came, I called; but his man-servant told me that he was a great invalid, and saw no one.’