"Objectionable!" Mrs. Sylvestre repeated. "Bertha is bringing him here." "Yes," responded Arbuthnot, "that is the objection to him, and it leaves him without a redeeming quality." Mrs. Sylvestre gave him a charmingly interested glance, and the next instant made a slight movement forward. "Ah!" she exclaimed, "it is Colonel Tredennis!" and she held out her hand with the most graceful gesture of welcome imaginable. "It is very good of you to remember me," Tredennis said. "It was not difficult," she answered, with a smile. And they fell, in the most natural manner, a step apart from the others, and she stood and looked at him as he spoke just as she had looked at Arbuthnot a moment before. Arbuthnot began to give mild attention to his coffee. "It is quite cold," he said to Bertha. "Will you give me another cup?" "Yes," she answered, and took it from his hand to carry it to the table. He followed her, and stood at her side as she poured the fresh cup out. "It is my impression," he said, with serene illiberality, "that she did not remember him at all." "Yes, she did," Bertha replied. "She remembers everybody. That is one of her gifts. She has a great many gifts." "I did not place implicit confidence in her intimation that she remembered me," he proceeded, still serenely. "I liked the statement, and saw the good taste of it, and the excellent reasons for its being true; but I managed to restrain the naïve impulses of a trusting nature. And it doesn't strike me as being so entirely plausible that she should have remembered Tredennis." He paused suddenly and looked at Bertha's hand, in which she held the sugar-tongs and a lump of sugar. "Will you have one lump, or two?" she asked. Then he looked from her hand to her face. Her hand was trembling and her face was entirely without color. The look of strained steadiness in her uplifted eyes was a shock to him. It seemed to him that any one who chanced to glance at her must see it. "You have been standing too long," he said. "You have tired yourself out again." He took the cup of coffee from her. "It is too late for you to expect many calls now," he said, "and if any one comes you can easily be found in the conservatory. I am going to take you there, and let you sit down for a few seconds, at least." He gave her his arm and carried the cup of coffee with him. "You will have to drink this yourself," he said. "Have you eaten anything to-day?" "No," she replied. "I thought not. And then you are surprised to find your hand trembling. Don't you see what nonsense it is?" "Yes." He stepped with her into the tiny conservatory at the end of the room, and gave her a seat behind a substantial palm on a red stand. His eyes never left her face, though he went on talking in the most matter-of-fact tone. "Drink that coffee," he said, "and then I will bring you a glass of wine and a sandwich." She put out her hand as if to take the cup, but it fell, shaking, upon her lap. "I can't," she said.