Ethel Hardcastle and Maud Debenham had meantime struck up a great friendship, after the manner of young girls. Ethel was always ready to admire and adore anyone who was kind and pretty and good to her; and anything like a strong will or an originality of disposition struck her as something peculiarly desirable. Thus in a couple of hours’ time the young mistress of Ladywell, with her frank gracious ways, her fresh, charming face, and her saucy independent speech, had altogether bewitched the less-favoured but simple-minded Ethel, and Maud became the object of her youthful and generous enthusiasm. Maud liked to be admired, and therefore she liked Ethel; and because she liked her, she waxed confidential; and an acute observer of human nature might safely aver that a stage had already been arrived at when long conversations in one another’s rooms at night, of a peculiarly and almost needlessly confidential character, would become inevitable. Tor became aware of this sudden friendship when he arrived in the drawing-room shortly before the dinner-hour, and found the two girls deep in talk in a distant window. Miss Marjory looked remarkably well—every inch the gentlewoman she was—in her rich amber satin and costly lace, which set off to peculiar advantage her small dark head and bright animated eyes. She had the distinguished, high-bred look which seems growing more and more rare in these modern times, and which no amount of outward magnificence can ever simulate. ‘Signor Pagliadini,’ announced the servant, throwing open the door; and Miss Marjory’s keen eyes were riveted in a moment upon the stranger’s face. He was presented to the guests, and went through the ceremony with all the ease of indifference. He had certainly no cause to be interested in these two ladies, whom he had never seen before, nor was likely to see again. Dinner was announced in a few minutes. Tor gave his arm to Miss Marjory; Mrs. Lorraine followed with Ethel; Maud and the Signor brought up the rear. ‘He is very good-looking,’ said Miss Marjory softly to her host—‘too good-looking to be dangerous, I think. Very handsome men are always rather stupid.’ Tor smiled, and wondered how far this sweeping statement was true. He was rather inclined to accept Miss Marjory’s axioms, for he believed her to be a keen observer of human nature. The dinner passed off smoothly. Conversations in English, French, and Italian were carried on promiscuously, English predominating somewhat, as three out of the four ladies present much preferred their native tongue as a medium of communication. Only once did Miss Marjory address any low-toned observation to Tor, and that was when the Italian and Maud were laughing very much together over some anecdote he had just related. Leaning forward slightly, she said in a quiet undertone: ‘Whether that man speaks English or not, he understands it as well as you or I.’ ‘Do you think so?’ ‘I don’t think anything about it. I _know_ it.’