While it was being accomplished Colonel Tredennis looked on in silence. He had never buttoned a woman's glove in his life. It seemed to him that it was scarcely the thing for a man who was neither husband, brother, nor lover to do. If there was any deep feeling in his heart, how could this careless, conventional fellow stand there and hold her little wrist and meet her lifted eyes without betraying himself? His reasoning was not very logical in its nature: it was the reasoning of pain and hot anger, and other uneasy and masterful emotions, which so got the better of him that he turned suddenly away that he might not see, scarcely knowing what he did. It was an abrupt movement and attracted Arbuthnot's attention, as also did something else,--a movement of Bertha's,--an unsteadiness of the gloved hand which, however, was speedily controlled or ended. He glanced at her, but only to find her smiling, though her breath came a little quickly, and her eyes looked exceedingly bright. "I am afraid you find it rather troublesome," she said. "Extremely," he replied; "but I look upon it in the light of moral training, and, sustained by a sense of duty, will endeavor to persevere." He felt the absurdity and triviality of the words all the more, perhaps, because as he uttered them he caught a glimpse of Tredennis' half-averted face. There was that in its jaded look which formed too sharp a contrast to inconsequent jesting. "It is not getting easier for him," was his thought. "It won't until it has driven him harder even than it does now." Perhaps there was something in his own humor which made him a trifle more susceptible to outward influences than usual. As has been already intimated, he had his moods, and he had felt one of them creeping upon him like a shadow during his brief walk through the dark streets. "I hear the carriage at the door," he said, when he had buttoned the glove. "Don't let me detain you, I am on my way home." "You have been?"--questioned Bertha, suddenly awakening to a new interest on her own part. "I called upon Mrs. Sylvestre," he answered. And then he assisted her to put on her wrap and they all went out to the carriage together. When she was seated and the door closed, Bertha leaned forward and spoke through the open window. "Don't you think the house very pretty?" she inquired. "Very," was his brief reply, and though she seemed to expect him to add more, he did not do so, and the carriage drove away and left him standing upon the sidewalk. "Ah!" said Bertha, leaning back, with a faint smile, "he will go again and again, and yet again." "Will he?" said the colonel. "Let us hope he will enjoy it." But the truth was that the subject did not awaken in him any absorbing interest. "Oh! he will enjoy it," she responded. "And Mrs. Sylvestre?" suggested Tredennis.