The house was quiet. His father and William had not yet come in, his mother and Emily seemed to have effaced themselves, and he knew that Leigh was taking an examination at school. It was very peaceful. The old, worn room had a certain shabby dignity, the company of books looked down at him, and through the open window he could see a snow-white lilac in full and splendid bloom. He halted his pen for a moment, and looked out at the sunshine that seemed to bathe the delicate blossoms in a shower of splendor. He had utterly forgotten the sensation of the household, his brother’s wife, and he was taken unawares. The door behind him opened softly, he perceived the scent of violets, and Fanchon entered. “_Ma foi._” She stood looking at him, her head on one side. “I didn’t know you were here!” Daniel laid down his pen. He had come to expect something new every time he saw her. “Does that matter?” he asked, smiling, aware that she was dressed for the street and that she looked lovely, a dark, bewitching little creature with haunting eyes. “I don’t matter. Come in, do!” She came, watching him, and put out her hand. “_Mais non!_ Let us be friends,” she said softly, with a kind of childish frankness. “I thought we were friends already,” he retorted, touching the hand lightly and flushing in spite of himself. She shook her head. “_Non, non_, you don’t like me!” Daniel rose and drew forward a chair. “Pardon me, _madame_,” he said gaily. “I forgot my manners. You see, I’m your brother and I don’t remember.” She perched lightly on the arm of the chair, waving him back to his seat. “It isn’t that,” she retorted quickly. “You don’t like me, _monsieur_!” He leaned back in his own chair, watching her, wondering just what she meant. “Perhaps you’re mistaken. Perhaps I do like you. Why shouldn’t I?” She laughed, throwing one arm lightly across the back of the chair and letting the light flash on the jewels she wore on her small fingers--extraordinary jewels, Daniel thought, for William’s wife. “_Mais non_, I know! I feel things here!” She touched her heart lightly, the dark eyes misting suddenly, the red lips trembling. “I--I can’t live unless I’m loved!” “If we all felt like that there’d be a good many deaths,” Daniel remarked. For a moment she made no reply, but her face seemed to grow pale and small and appealing. “She’s either a creature of a hundred moods,” he thought musingly, “or she has an extraordinary facial control.” Fanchon seemed to feel his thought. His very attitude, aloof and challenging and critical, affected her. She shivered, covering her eyes with her hands. “Don’t look at me like that!” she cried passionately. “_Mon Dieu_, I can’t bear it! You--you hate me!” Daniel reddened; he found himself in an uncomfortable position. Had he shown his hostility so strongly? Had he let this wild young creature see that he felt she was an interloper?