The cub-hunting was not to begin for a few days yet, and meanwhile the master of the house followed her about pretty persistently, so that she had, ere long, a restless feeling about it. When departing on a riding-party he anticipated Sir Paget by swinging her into the saddle, adjusting her skirts and reins, leaving Pike Poole to do that office for Miss Hurdell, to whom, in return for pleasant quarters, he usually devoted himself, while she, with all her alleged indifference to matrimony, was not indisposed to receive his attentions. There was something in the occasional gaze of Sir Harry that puzzled the innocent Eveline and made her feel restless under it, especially when he hung over her at the piano, as he constantly did; and now she played more than she cared for, to avoid conversation and have freedom to indulge in her own sad thoughts. 'Surely you must be tired of standing there so long, Sir Harry,' she said once, with surprise. 'Tired of what--listening to you or gazing on you?' he replied, lowering his voice for her ear alone; 'either were impossible.' If he had been addressing a barmaid he could scarcely have made a more pointed remark; but so full was Eveline of thoughts too deep for words--thoughts of the untimely fate of one who loved her so dearly--to whose fate or past existence she dared not refer, and for whom she dared not wear even a black ribbon--that she did not perceive the admiration she was exciting in the breast of Sir Harry and in the quiet purity of her own heart that such sentiments as his could exist, never occurred to her. He ventured on one occasion to say something very pointed about the beauty of her hands as she idled over the piano keys. 'As there are other ladies in the room, I cannot compliment you on your discrimination, Sir Harry,' she replied, coldly. 'But what do you mean by saying such things to me?' she added. She began at last to perceive that there was a meaning in his voice. She felt offended, and wished the cub-hunting would begin, that the visit of herself and Sir Paget to Hurdell Hall might come the sooner to an end. 'If I could only achieve a good long and quiet walk and talk with her,' grumbled Sir Harry to himself; 'but in this cursed place we are always interrupted--can't attempt to make my innings or be with her alone. Lucretia, Poole, or some one else always turns up, and she--herself--never gives a fellow the chance wanted.' Though innately wicked in heart and rejoicing that the poor girl had made--or been compelled by others to make--an ill-assorted marriage, something of pity for her began to mingle with his nefarious ideas and hopes, and that pity was as much akin to love as his _blasé_ soul could feel. 'It is a regular case of Beauty and the Beast, this marriage of old Pudd's,' thought he. Finding her promenading on the terrace alone one evening overlooking the pool where the swans swam among the snow-white water-lilies, he hastened to join her.