When, soon after, he made his appearance in her drawing-room, she gave him many a hint as to how to play his cards. But he irritated her by his slowness; he was too circumspect by half. It was only in the evening that he took a hand in the game. During the day he left Nora to her own affairs, and was in general neither more nor less attentive than if he had been a merely susceptible stranger. To spectators his present relation with the young girl was somewhat puzzling; though Mrs. Keith, by no ambiguous giving out, as Hamlet says, had diffused a sympathetic expectancy. Roger wondered again and again whether Nora had guessed his meaning. He observed in her at times, as he fancied, a sort of nervous levity which seemed born of a need to conjure away the phantom of sentiment. And of this hostile need, of course, he hereupon strove to trace the lineage. He talked with her little, as yet, and never interfered in her talk with others; but he watched her devotedly from corners, and caught her words through the hum of voices. Sometimes she looked at him as if she were on the point of telling him something. What had she to tell him? In trying to guess, Roger made up his mind that she was in love. Search as he could, however, he was unable to find her lover. It was no one there present; they were all alike wasting their shot; the enemy had stolen a march and was hidden in the very heart of the citadel. He appealed distractedly to Mrs. Keith. “Lovesick,—lovesick is the word,” he groaned. “I have read of it all my days in the poets, but here it is in the flesh. The poor girl plays her part well; she’s wound up tight; but the spring will snap and the watch run down. D—n the man! I would rather he carried her off than sit and see this.” He saw that his friend had bad news. “Tell me everything,” he said: “don’t spare me.” “You have noticed it at last,” she answered. “I was afraid you would. Well! he’s not far to seek. Think it over; can’t you guess? My dear Mr. Lawrence, you are celestially simple. Your cousin Hubert is not.” “Hubert!” Roger echoed, staring. A spasm passed over his face; his eyes flashed. At last he hung his head. “Dear, dear,” he said: “have I done it all for Hubert?” “Not if I can help it!” cried Mrs. Keith, sharply. “She may not marry you; but, at the worst, she shall not marry him!” Roger laid his hand on her arm; first heavily, then gently. “Dear friend, she must be happy, at any cost. If she loves Hubert, she must marry him. I will settle an income!” Mrs. Keith gave his knuckles a great rap with her fan. “You will settle a fiddlestick! You will keep your money and you will marry Miss Nora. Leave it to me! If you have no regard for your rights, at least I have.” “Rights? what rights have I? I might have let her alone. I needn’t have settled down on her in this deadly fashion. But Hubert’s a happy man! Does he know it? You must write to him. I can’t!”