‘You have been living in warm countries lately, and Thanshope is not a warm place, but one of those towns where we have to use a lot of coals to make up for the want of sunshine!’ ‘Yes, indeed!’ said Mrs. Mallory, shivering. ‘I have not had time to miss the sunshine, or to enjoy it, if there had been any, since I came,’ said Sebastian, his glance dwelling almost involuntarily upon her as she stood there, her eyes flashing back the firelight, and looking herself (he thought) like some bright living flame, or some tropical flower. He could not understand her. There was nothing vulgar about her; her voice was pleasant and, though distinctly northern in its clear accent, was not in the least uneducated in its pronunciation of words; she had ease, grace, self-possession of carriage; apparently she was devoid altogether of self-consciousness; all of which things were surely signs of good breeding; and yet she was not in the least like the many well-bred girls whom he had met in society up and down the world--in Paris, Vienna, Berlin, and other places. He wondered what she could talk about, and whether she talked well. Dinner was announced, and he led her into the dining-room. Hugo von Birkenau was talking with much animation to Mrs. Mallory, as was his wont, though she did not appear to find him a very interesting companion. Helena Spenceley, suddenly turning to Sebastian, said, ‘I know quite well where you have been. I have followed your course with the greatest interest Mrs. Mallory used always to tell me where you went, and sometimes read me bits of your letters.’ ‘Did she? I wish I had known.’ ‘Do you? Why?’ she asked, looking at him with a certain bright attentiveness, and waiting with evident interest for his answer. Certainly she was not like other girls. Another girl would have known directly that he meant a kind of vague compliment by his aimless phrase; but she said ‘Why?’ ‘If I had known, perhaps I might have written rather more carefully considered epistles to my mother,’ he said, and felt that it was, and sounded, a lame reply. ‘That would have been a pity, for the sake of a person you had never seen and did not know,’ she said, the smile fading from her face. Sebastian felt he had made a bad beginning. It began to be rather dreadful, when she went on quite seriously, ‘Do you mean that if you had thought your letters were read aloud you would have made them into set compositions to please an audience?’ ‘I think it is a matter of no importance whatever. Letter-writing is not my _forte_. I am too lazy.’ ‘Oh, they were very interesting letters,’ said Helena, naïvely. ‘But how can you talk about being lazy! If only I had had such chances!’ She shook her head. ‘I should think you had the chance of doing whatever you pleased,’ he said, smiling. Helena did not respond to the smile. Her face, intensely expressive, darkened visibly. Her eyes sank.