She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, “I thought you cared. I beg your pardon.” “My dear,” he replied, amiably: “if you exclude everybody who falls in love with you, we shall have no one in the house but blind men.” “And do you like men to be in love with me?” “Yes. It makes the house pleasant for them; it makes them attentive to you; and it gives you great power for good. When I was a romantic boy, any good woman could have made a saint of me. Let them fall in love with you as much as they please. Afterwards they will seek wives according to a higher standard than if they had never known you. But do not return the compliment, or your influence will become an evil one.” “Ned: I had not intended to tell you this; but now I will. Sholto Douglas not only loves me, but he told me so to-day.” “Of course. A man always does tell it, sooner or later.” Marian sat down on the sofa and looked at him for some time gravely and a little wistfully. “I think,” she said, “I should feel very angry if any woman made such a confession to you.” “A Christian British lady does not readily forgive a breach of convention; nor a woman an invasion of her privileges, even when they have become a burden to her.” “What do you mean by that?” she said, rising. “Marian,” he said, looking straight at her: “are you dissatisfied?” “What reason have I to—” “Never mind the reasons. Are you?” “No,” said she, steadfastly. He smiled indulgently; pressed her hand for a moment against his cheek; and went out for the short walk he was accustomed to take before retiring. CHAPTER XV In October Marian was at Sark, holiday making at the house of Hardy McQuinch’s brother, who had recently returned to England with a fortune made in Australia. Conolly, having the house at Holland Park to himself, fitted a spare room as a laboratory, and worked there every night. One evening, returning home alone a little before five o’clock, he shut himself into this laboratory, and had just set to work when Armande, the housemaid, interrupted him. “Mrs. Leith Fairfax, sir.” Conolly had had little intercourse with Mrs. Fairfax since before his marriage, when he had once shewn her the working of his invention at Queen Victoria Street; and as Marian had since resented her share of Douglas’s second proposal by avoiding her society as far as possible without actually discontinuing her acquaintance, this visit was a surprise. Conolly looked darkly at Armande, and went to the drawing-room without a word. “_How_ do you do, Mr. Conolly?” said Mrs. Fairfax, as he entered. “I need not ask: you are looking so well. Have I disturbed you?” “You have—most agreeably. Pray sit down.” “I know your time is priceless. I should never have ventured to come, but that I felt sure you would like to hear all the news from Sark. I have been there for the last fortnight. Marian told me to call on you the moment I returned.”