“Well,” he ended his meditations, arousing himself with difficulty to be aware of the knot of his tie, “it makes you feel like a yellow dog to think it, but what am I to think? Looks as if Aunt Anne knew; probably women always know. But why in thunder----? Nell is strictly and within bounds of statement a winner. There are such a lot of fellows--I never have altogether liked Nell; that is, I never fell for her. Worldly women strike me about the way an angel stock broker would hit you. But apparently I haven’t got her right. I suppose it’s hard for mere man to know ’em, fathom ’em. A kaleidoscope is stable compared to ’em! Nell isn’t so worldly after all. She’s capable of unambitious attachments, it seems. I suppose nice ones are cut on the same pattern in their general lines. They all want affection, children, the things best worth while.” Kit went downstairs feeling benignant. He was human, and though not as conceited as most of his age and sex, there was no denying that he found it pleasant to suspect that a clever, beautiful young creature turned toward him, innocently betraying that she could love him. It gave Kit a calm, uplifted, vague sense of pitiful but delightful things enveloping him. It perturbed him, of course; what he should do about it must be faced, but in the meantime there was no getting away from the fact that he liked it. He was fine enough to attribute to Helen the maternal instinct that led her from the plaudits of society toward shadowy little hands, impatiently pat-a-caking for her to clasp them and draw them forth into the world. As Kit came down the stairs Helen’s pretty laughter rang out to him. It was her old mocking laughter, but this time it did not, as usual, jar on him. He knew that often she did not laugh; she had shown him this. He did not suspect that she had been describing their ride to his aunt, who found Helen as entertaining as a Shaw play, and touching lightly and cleverly upon his failure to take the good things that the gods, or rather the goddess, provided. He paused at the hall table to take up and look over a pamphlet which lay there, paying no attention to remarks which Miss Carrington was making in train of Helen’s laugh. But clear as a bell and perfectly heard, not only by Kit’s ears, but by his brain, came Helen’s reply. Her voice was as modulated as always, but it rang to an uncommon degree with the fervour of strong conviction and determination, and with no small amount of contempt.