"Well, I don't know what her conception of 'niceness' may be; it didn't fit mine. She had got it into her head that I 'pitied' her, which seemed to be a crime. I didn't see how to disprove it, so I came away." He spoke with a dry lightness, but she perceived anxiety and unrest under his tone. She bent forward. "Do you know where Madeleine is now?" "Not in the least." "In the Long Gallery. I sent her there." "Upon my word!" he said, after a pause. "Do you want to rule us all?" His cheek had flushed again; his look was half rebellious. A flash of pain struck through her brightness. "No, no!" she said, protesting. "But I know--you don't!" He rose deliberately, and bowed with the air of obeying her commands. Then suddenly he bent down to her. "I knew perfectly well that she was in the Long Gallery! But I also knew that Mrs. Bayle had chosen to join her there. The coast, you may perceive, is now clear." He walked away. Marcella looked round, and saw an elegant little bride, Mr. Bayle's new wife, rustling into the room again. She leant back in her chair, half laughing, yet her eyes were wet. The new joy brought a certain ease to old regrets. Only that word "rule" rankled a little. Yet the old regrets were all sharp and active again. It seemed to be impossible now to talk with George Tressady, to make any real breach in the barrier between them; but how impossible also not to think of him!--of the young fellow, who had given Maxwell his reward, and said to herself such sad, such agitating things! She did think of him. Her heart ached to serve him. The situation made a new and a very troubling appeal to her womanhood. * * * * * The night was warm, and still, and the windows were open to it as they had been on that May night at Castle Luton. Maxwell came to look for Tressady, and took him out upon a flagged terrace that ran the length of the house. They talked first of the Ancoats incident, George supplementing his letters by some little verbal pictures of Ancoats's life and surroundings that made Maxwell laugh grimly from time to time. As to Mrs. Allison, Maxwell reported that Ancoats seemed to have gained his point. There was talk of the marriage coming off some time in the winter. "Well, Fontenoy has earned his prize," said George. "There are more than twelve years between them. But she seems to be one of the women who don't age. I have seen her go through griefs that would kill most women; and it has been like the passage of a storm over a flower." "Religion, I suppose, carried to that point, protects one a good deal," said George, not, in truth, feeling much interest in the matter or in Mrs. Allison now that his task was done.