Mr. Maddison was evidently not used to society. Several people said so who saw him suddenly turn his back on that charming old gentleman, Sir Allan Beaumerville, and leave him in the middle of a sentence. Lady Meltoun, who happened to notice it, was quite distressed at seeing an old friend treated in such a manner. But Sir Allan took it very nicely, everybody said. There had been a flush in his face just for a moment, but it soon died away. It was his own fault, he declared. He had certainly made an unfortunate remark, and these artists and literary men were all so sensitive. He hoped that Lady Meltoun would think no more of it, and accordingly Lady Meltoun promised not to. But though, of course, she and every one else who had seen it sympathized with Sir Allan, there were one or two, with whom Sir Allan was not quite such a favorite, who could not help remarking upon the grand air with which Mr. Maddison had turned his back upon the baronet, and the dignity with which he had left him. Mr. Carlyon, who had been watching for his opportunity, buttonholed Maddison, and led him into a corner. "I've got you now," he said triumphantly. "My dear fellow, whatever made you snub poor Sir Allan like that?" "Never mind. Come and make your adieux to Lady Meltoun, and let us go. I should not have come here." "One moment first, Maddison," the artist said seriously. "Do you remember those lines of yours in which a man and woman stand on a bare hill by a clump of pines, and watch the misty moonlight cast weird shadows upon the hillside and over the quivering sea? 'A Farewell,' you called it, I think?" "Yes; I remember them." "Maddison, the woman to whom I wished to introduce you bids you to go to her by the memory of those lines." There was very little change in his face. It only grew a little more rigid, and a strange light gleamed in his eyes. But the hand which he had laid on Carlyon's arm to draw him towards Lady Meltoun suddenly tightened like a band of iron, till the artist nearly cried out with pain. "Let go my arm, for God's sake, man!" he said in a low tone, "and I will take you to her." "I am ready," Mr. Maddison answered quietly. "Ah! I see where she is. You need not come." He crossed the room, absolutely heedless of more than one attempt to stop him. Mr. Carlyon watched him, and then with a sore heart bade his hostess farewell, and hurried away. He was generous enough to help another man to his happiness, but he could not stay and watch it. CHAPTER XVII BERNARD MADDISON AND HELEN THURWELL