when he ought to be thinking of Clare it was Arthur Arden he began to think of--Arthur, who had divined Lord Newmarch, and hated him. Edgar’s mind was full of excitement. It is so much more easy to philosophise about things which don’t affect ourselves personally. He had been amused and quite calm when he discussed with himself the doings of Mayfair, but when it was Arden that was the subject of his thoughts he was not calm. Thus it was the most steady and serious among all his friends and acquaintances who threw this sudden barb into Edgar’s life. CHAPTER XXII. “I don’t think you are happy in town, Mr. Arden,” said Gussy Thornleigh the next time Edgar presented himself in Berkeley Square; “and when we saw you last at home you said you were not coming. What made you resolve to come after all?” The truth was that Gussy supposed it was herself who had made him come: this had been taken for granted by all the family, and Gussy naturally had believed it, or at least had tried to believe it--a point on which, however, her good sense made a feeble conflict with that happy girlish vanity, which as yet had not experienced many rebuffs. Privately in the retirement of her own chamber she had already disclosed her scepticism to her sister Helena. “I don’t believe he came after me,” she said. “Mamma thinks so, and Harry thinks so, but I believe it is only their innocence. They don’t understand Edgar Arden. He is fond of me and he is fond of you, and he does not care a bit for either of us. That is my opinion. He wants to make friends of us all the same as if we were not girls.” “And why shouldn’t he?” asked Helena with some indignation; not that she cared for Edgar Arden, but for the principle. “His being a man does not make any difference to me; and why should it make a difference to him that I am a girl?” “Ah, but it does make a difference,” said wiser Gussy. “Perhaps not when people are older; but I don’t know any except fast girls who go and _afficher_ their friendship with men. I don’t think he came for me. I think I shall ask him some day, quite promiscuous, that he may not be put on his guard--and I shall soon see if it is for me.” It was in accordance with this resolution that she spoke, and her question was “quite promiscuous,” as she said, interjected into the midst of a conversation with which it had nothing to do. Edgar bore the test with a composure which satisfied Gussy’s intellect at once, though it somewhat depressed her in spite of herself. “I could not help it,” he said quite seriously, “It seemed a way out of a difficulty. I am not quite sure now that it was a wise way, but then it seemed the best.”