Poor Wantley, unconscious of these hopes, his sense of humour for the moment more or less suspended, found the mornings especially hang heavy on his hands, for Cecily, after an hour spent with Penelope in the studio, generally disappeared upstairs into her own room till lunch; and this absorption, as he supposed, in business connected with the Melancthon Settlement did not increase his liking for the place which filled so much of Cecily's heart, and took up so much of the time he might have spent with her. At last the day came when the young man solved the innocent mystery of how Cecily Wake spent her mornings. Passing along the terrace, he overheard a fragmentary conversation which showed him that his cousin was using her young friend as secretary, handing over to her the large correspondence which dogs the hours of every man and woman known to have the disposal of great wealth. When there had been no one at hand more compliant, Wantley had himself undertaken the task of dealing with the hundred and one absurd, futile, often pathetic, requests for help, which filled by far the greater part of Mrs. Robinson's letter-bag. Too well he knew the tenor of the various remarks which now fell upon his ear; one sentence, however, at once compelled closer attention: 'I have had a letter--to which I should like you also to send an answer. It's from David Winfrith. Please say I'm glad he's back, and that we will drive over there to-morrow. Write to him and say I have asked you to do so, as I am too busy to answer his letter to-day.' Wantley, with keen irritation, heard the low, hesitating answer: 'If you don't mind, I would so much prefer not to write to Mr. Winfrith. You know he has never liked me, and I am sure he would feel very much annoyed if he thought'--the soft voice paused, but went bravely on--'if he thought I had seen any letter of his to you----' 'But you have not seen his letter! Still, I dare say you're right. We will drive over there to-day--the more so that I have something else to do in that neighbourhood.' A moment later Wantley heard the door of the studio opening and shutting, and knew that his cousin was alone. He walked in through the window prepared to tell Mrs. Robinson, and that very plainly, his opinion of what he considered her gross selfishness. But quickly she carried the war into the enemy's country. 'I saw you,' she said, with heightened colour, 'and I didn't think it very pretty of you to stand listening out there!' Then, struck by the look of suppressed anger which was his only answer, she added: 'Perhaps I've been rather selfish the last few days, but you and she see quite as much of each other as is good for you, just at present. And, Ludovic, I've been longing to show you something which, I think even you will agree, exactly fits your present condition.'