Gradually his attention began to be held by what she was reading. It seemed to him to be very good. This impression increased as she went on, till he grew absorbed, almost breathless. When finally she put down the last sheet and looked up at him, rather nervously, he was silent. “Well?” she demanded, her voice shaken in a tremulous laugh. Mayne got up and put his back against the mantelpiece. “Bravo!” he said, deliberately. “It’s good, Cis--jolly good.” There was a moment’s pause, during which the color rushed into her face, and her hands began to tremble. The particular scene she had read had meant a great deal to her, how much she had not realized till she heard his evidently deeply felt words of praise. “You think so?” she forced herself to say. “I know it,” he returned, in the decisive voice which had often comforted her. He looked down at her, smiling. “Didn’t I always say you could do it? I don’t care what the public verdict is--and it’s quite likely to be slighting. You’ve done a splendid piece of work, and, by Jove! if you’re half as proud of it as I am----” He paused, and they both laughed. “Dick,” she said gently after a moment, “I shouldn’t have done it at all if it hadn’t been for you.” The door opened at the moment, and the parlor-maid came in to announce dinner. Cecily sprang up. “Come along!” she said, gayly. “We must gallop through the courses--there are scarcely any, by the way--or else we shall be late, and I hate being late.” Mayne followed her into the dining-room, glad and sorry for the interruption; and through dinner, and afterwards in the cab on their way to the Haymarket, they talked on indifferent topics. “It’s going to rain,” said Cecily, as they drew up before the door, and, indeed, when they came out after the play, the streets were all wet and shining. “Isn’t it beautiful and wonderful!” she exclaimed, as they drove home. “It’s Aladdin’s palace!” The streets were like long rivers of silver, in which were reflected trembling shafts of gold and ruby and amber. Overhead the moon sailed clear of clouds in an enormous gulf of star-sown sky. “How can any one say that London isn’t wonderful?” she went on. “To me it’s a magic city. Look at those great swinging globes. They’re shooting out starry spikes of enchantment all the time. And see those trees against the sky!” They had turned into the Mall by this time, and Dick glanced at her. Her eyes were shining, her lips a little parted with eagerness. Suddenly he thought of the woman with whom he had walked across the meadows at Sheepcote. He recalled her drawn face and faded eyes, and something that was almost like an instinct of cruelty prompted his next words. “How does Miss Burton do as secretary?” he asked. He had never before alluded to her daily presence in the house. She glanced at him a moment, in her turn. “Oh, I believe very well,” she returned, quietly, with no trace of confusion. “Robert hopes to get his new book out in the spring.” “And yours?”