That talk with Roma in the studio left an impression upon Tor’s mind which was decidedly favourable to the young sculptor. Hitherto he had thought her cold and proud, and decidedly uninteresting, in spite of her beauty. Now, however, when she had thrown off for a moment her reserve, and had spoken her mind freely to him, had trusted him as a friend, and thrown herself, as it were, upon his mercy, now he felt to understand her better, and admired her more. He was filled with a sense of compassion for the fate, which did not trouble her one whit. It seemed to him a melancholy thing for a young girl to be thus excluded from the world and all its gaieties, shut up all the best years of her life in an obscure retreat, seeing nobody but an eccentric and egotistic blind father, and quite at the mercy of his whims and crotchets. That she herself was unconscious of the hardship, and devoted to her father heart and soul, made the situation the more pathetic in his eyes; and when he heard of her anxieties on the score of the blind man’s health, and understood what such a fear ever before her eyes must be to her, then he pitied her still more sincerely, and determined at all costs to stand her father’s friend and hers, and relieve her, if it were possible to do so, of some of the load of care, which he now knew must weigh upon her heavily. He came often to the little house to talk to Meredith, and sometimes he drove him out, and, whenever he could, persuaded Roma to accompany them. He encouraged Maud to go often to see her, and, without betraying confidence, implied that he thought the poor girl must have a dull time of it, and suggested that she should be invited to Ladywell more frequently. Maud began to think that her words to her cousins were bringing their own fulfilment, and that Phil was growing very fond of Roma. Sometimes, in a mischievous mood, she would try to tease her friend by hinting her suspicions; but Roma always silenced her by a look of pain and shame, which she found it hard to interpret. Michael Meredith was calmly content, feeling somewhat as an emperor might, who had all things in his power, even the hearts and lives of his subjects, and had but to will, and the thing was done. No doubts as to the reason of Tor’s visits ever crossed his mind. He troubled himself with no fears, and felt no smallest dread of failure. Like most men who live entirely out of the world, he believed he knew it profoundly; and mistook his theories, founded on his own fanciful dreams, for the result of deep and experienced observation.