"Reading maketh a full man, conversation a ready man." The girl's nature--rendered, perhaps, somewhat over-serious by solitude and much deep reading--only needed the mental stimulant of a brilliant and clever man's society, to grow rapidly bright and alert. She learnt to find interest in many a subject hitherto sealed. From dress to politics--from hard facts to vague fancies--from logical deducing to limitless speculating, her mind was daily led over fresh fields and pastures new, and rejoiced in this wandering. Morris and Evarne sat up later that night than they had ever yet done together. Within these walls Morris alone held sway, and both felt the subtle influence of this state of affairs, so opposed to the constant, comparative surveillance of life in hotels. At length the musical notes of the clock chimed the hour past midnight, and Evarne sprang from her low chair, startled by the flight of time. Morris went upstairs with her. Standing on the threshold of her room she touched the knob of the electric burners, then held out both hands with her usual frankness to bid him good-night. He held them for a few seconds with that firm and affectionate clasp in which she so delighted. But then, suddenly transferring both her hands into one of his, he put the first two fingers of his free hand to his own lips and immediately pressed them gently upon Evarne's rosy mouth. It was at most a mere suggestion of a kiss, yet with a startled glance she jerked her hands away, stepped back quickly, instinctively slamming the door, and Morris, standing outside with a little grimace of amusement on his countenance, heard the key turn in the lock. It was apparently a decided rebuke, yet he went downstairs well pleased by the very violence of her reception of this experimental advance. Easily enough had he conquered any temptation to kiss the girl as long as there remained the fear that she might accept his kisses dutifully, as mere fatherly salutes. But the light that had darted into her eloquent eyes at the simple pressure of his fingers upon those fresh, unsullied lips of hers, satisfied him that such an idea--had it ever existed--had been got rid of forever. Evarne flung herself amid the purple cushions of a big chair and shut her eyes. Ere long one idea evolved itself from the tangle of confused thought, and placed itself--clearly and shamelessly--before the bar of her reason, to be relentlessly judged. Did she indeed owe all that Mr. Kenyon was doing for her--was giving her--simply to the fact that she was Leo Stornway's daughter, or were her own youth--her beauty--her sex--the real forces that prompted his generous actions?