Paul Desfrayne found some people among the crowd whom he knew, and was introduced to some others by his hostess, or by Frank Amberley, so he ought not to have experienced the profound sense of ennui and oppression which made him long to be anywhere but in this brilliant throng. Lady Quaintree at last seized an opportunity of questioning her nephew on the subject of the mysterious old man, and in a few words he gave her as much information as he thought advisable. “How extraordinary!” she said. “What a very romantic case! I have no objection to his leaving a fine fortune to my dear little girl, but I think he should not have hampered her with such disagreeable conditions. He seems to have been remarkably eccentric.” “I knew scarcely anything of him,” Mr. Amberley replied. “I think, certainly, it was an odd thing for him to lay such an embargo on the liberty of two young people, and I doubt not but the expression of his wishes will most probably be the means of hindering them from----” He abruptly paused. His aunt looked searchingly at him, anxious to learn his secret thoughts, for more reasons than one. “I know Lois will never be the one to love when she is ordered to dispose of her affections,” she said, very quietly. “And I am perfectly convinced she will never marry any one whom she does not love.” A most wonderfully indiscreet question--one which he knew Lady Quaintree would not answer, but which he longed to ask, nevertheless--trembled on the lips of the young lawyer, yet he could not form the necessary words. He was about to ask: “Do you think she cares for any one at present?” But Lady Quaintree was called away before he could muster sufficient presence of mind even to debate with himself whether it were possible to as much as hint such a query. Lois’ opinion of Paul Desfrayne, gathered from those fugitive glances, was that she could never like him even as a friend. He seemed so cold, so self-absorbed, so haughty, that her sense of antagonism deepened. The strange, bewildering sense of magnetic attraction which had fallen upon her during the first few moments of their unexpected meeting had faded away, to be replaced by a firmly rooted conviction that she could never entertain even the mildest liking for this almost stern, melancholy looking guardian. Paul Desfrayne’s idea of Lois--at whom he had, indeed, hardly glanced at all--was that, while beautiful as a statue, she was as icy as if carved from marble. Deeper and darker grew the cloud upon the young man’s brow; and at length, finding a favorable chance to escape unseen, he quitted the softly illumined drawing-room, wherein he had deemed himself a prisoner; and with a slow step he descended the wide, richly carpeted staircase, revolving thoughts evidently not too pleasing.