As she paused expectant, there was a half-mischievous smile in her pretty eyes; and yet they held a suspicion of tears. It was such an odd world. Why could not a woman forget when she had ceased to care? Men did; this one certainly had--no!---- The still small voice had apparently taken time to filter through to its destination; but it had found the chord of memory, and struck it sharply. 'Yes! what is it, dear?' came the answer drowsily. Then Jack Raymond stirred, stared, finally woke to facts. 'I beg your pardon, Lady Arbuthnot,' he began, rising hurriedly, 'I had been playing some hard games at racquets and----' 'But you always do sleep about this time, don't you? I've noticed you in the distance,' she said coolly. The suggestion in her words that she still had some right to criticise, added to his surprised irritation at finding that he had somehow gone back to the past. Why the deuce should the memory of the very inflection of her voice as she used to say 'Jack' have come back to confuse his brain, and absolutely make his heart beat? 'Yes!' he replied, with palpable hardihood, 'you're right. I generally do sleep. There's nothing else to do, you see, between tennis and whist. But if you want any stores from the go-down,[5] I am quite at your commands. There is an awfully good Stilton on cut, if you'd like some.' She beat her foot impatiently. This thrusting forward of his duties as a sort of high-class grocer was _impayable_! He _could_ not think she had sought him out in order to buy Stilton cheese of him! And yet--how like the old headstrong Jack it was! 'Do tennis and whist make up your day now, Mr. Raymond,' she said swiftly. 'It used not to be so.' The reproach in her voice was plain, and he resented it. She had left him to go his own way, and he had gone it. What business was it of hers now? 'You forget the racing and the betting,' he answered coolly; 'and my incurable idleness has at least this virtue--it leaves me, as I said, at Lady Arbuthnot's disposal.' He gave a little formal bow, which sent another pang of memory through her. The fact annoyed her. How intolerable it was, that despite his degeneration into a high-class grocer--here she smiled faintly--he could scarcely speak a word to her, here in the semi-darkness--they two alone--without bringing back---- Ah! so much! Yes! it was intolerable. It must be ignored; or rather the solid, sensible facts must be dragged out into the daylight and given their real significance. 'I am glad of that,' she replied, 'for I want you to help me. But let us sit down--people will be less likely to disturb us then.' He obeyed, feeling restive under her calm superiority, yet admiring it. She was no failure, anyhow; he had been right in his choice, years ago. Not that it mattered; since all that had once been between them had been forgotten--by him at any rate. Absolutely forgotten.