Mr. Jenkins, plunging his hand into his breast, flattened himself against the wall, and resumed the Giaour-like scowl as Sebastian followed Helena. She opened the door of a back room and invited him in. ‘I am afraid you will find it rather hot,’ said she; ‘these little houses are so thin, you know. They let the heat in, and then it never seems to get out again, somehow. Take that chair,’ and she seated herself languidly upon another. ‘It is our only sitting-room,’ she added, drawing off her gloves, and speaking deliberately, as she looked fixedly at Sebastian, to see how he would take her announcement. ‘It is dining, and drawing-room, morning-room, boudoir, and library. At Castle Hill we had them separately, but here mamma lets the rest of her rooms to lodgers. Mr. Jenkins, who wanted me to go for a walk with him, was one of them.’ ‘I see,’ said Sebastian, tranquilly. ‘I also saw that I did not rise in his esteem from the fact that I deprived him of his walk.’ ‘Mr. Mallory!’ exclaimed Helena, indignantly, as she lost the languid look and suddenly sat upright, ‘do you insult me by supposing that I _ever_ take my walks abroad with that horrid, presuming little man? But why should you not suppose so?’ she added with a little laugh. ‘I supposed nothing,’ said Sebastian. ‘I only saw that he looked very much disappointed, and I could quite sympathise with him.’ Here he ventured to look at Helena with some meaning in his glance, but was met by a direct gaze of what seemed to him cheerful, blank indifference--a gaze which chilled him; for Helena’s looks and glances had suddenly risen to a place of high importance in his mind. Their interview on Friday, especially the first few minutes of it, haunted him. He could not forget her agitation, nor how she had turned, first pale, and then red as a rose, on meeting him. He had wondered, and had determined to find out, what the agitation meant. He had thought it would be quite easy. The Helena whom he had known in former days had not been adroit in concealing her feelings, but before the present young lady he was obliged to own himself baffled. Her appearance, attitude, expression, were languid and weary; she looked worn, and not very happy, but her manner was composed, and a little hard in its ostentatious cheerfulness. He could not tell what was real and what assumed, and the desire to find out, to break down the reserve, to conquer in short--his besetting foible--grew very strong indeed. ‘Can you drink tea at five o’clock?’ pursued Helena. ‘We have ours at five. Teaching makes me thirsty, and mamma likes her tea at five. Remember, there is no dinner to follow after.’ ‘If you invite me to tea, I am sure I shall be delighted to stay.’ ‘Then you are invited. Now I must go and take off my things. I will try to find mamma. You will excuse our leaving you alone for a short time.’