Gertrude, on her part, was not too absorbed in conversation to notice what her sister was doing. She saw at once that, in spite of some thrills of satisfied vanity, Phyllis was not enjoying herself. There was a restless, discontented light in her eyes, a half-weary recklessness in her pose, as she leant against the edge of a tall screen, which filled Gertrude with wonder and anxiety. She felt, as she had felt so often lately, that Phyllis, her little Phyllis, whom she had scolded and petted and yearned over for eighteen years, was passing beyond her ken, into regions where she could never follow. The evening wore itself away as such evenings do, in aimless drifting to and fro, half-hearted attempts at conversation, much mutual staring, and a determined raid on the refreshment buffet, on the part of people who have dined sumptuously an hour ago. "Our English social institutions," Darrell said aside to Lord Watergate; "the private view, where every one goes; the _conversazione_, where no one talks." Lord Watergate laughed, and went back to Gertrude, to propose an attack on the buffet, by way of diversion; and Sidney, with his inscrutable air of utter purposelessness, made his way through the crowd to where Phyllis stood in conversation with two young men. Some paces off from her he paused, and stood in silence, looking at her. Phyllis shot her glance to his, half-petulant, half-supplicating, like that of a child. It was late in the evening, and this was the first attempt he had made to approach her. Darrell advanced a step or two, and Phyllis lowered her eyes, with a sudden and vivid blush. "At last," said Darrell, in a low voice, as the two young men instinctively moved off before him. "You are just in time to say 'good-night' to me, Mr. Darrell." Darrell smiled, with his face close to hers. His smile was considered attractive-- "Seeming more generous for the coldness gone." "It is not 'good-night,' but 'good-bye,' that I have come to say." The brilliant and rapid smile had passed across his face, leaving no trace. "What do you mean, Mr. Darrell?" "I mean that I am going away to-morrow." "For ever and ever?" Phyllis laughed, as she spoke, turning pale. "For several months. I have important business in Paris." "But you haven't finished my portrait, Mr. Darrell." Sidney looked down, biting his lip. "Shall you be able to finish it in time for the Grosvenor?" "Possibly not." "Now you are disagreeable," cried Phyllis, in a high voice; "and ungrateful, too, after all those long sittings." "Not ungrateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Under cover of the crowd he had taken both her hands, and was pressing them fiercely at each repetition, while his miserable eyes looked imploringly into hers. "You are hurting me." Her voice was low and broken. She shrank back afraid. "Good-bye--Phyllis."