There was something very fascinating to Evereld in the novelty and variety of this new life; before many days had passed she began to feel quite as if she belonged to the company. She sympathised keenly with the desire to have good houses, listened with interest to all the discussions and arrangements, and soon found herself on friendly terms with almost every one. “There is one man, though, that I can’t make out at all,” she remarked one evening. “He always seems to disappear in such an odd way. I mean Mr. Rawnleigh.” Macneillie and Ralph both laughed. “You would be very clever indeed if you contrived to know anything about him,” said the Manager. “He chooses to keep himself wrapped in a mystery. There’s not a creature among us who can tell you anything about him. He’s the cleverest low comedian I have ever had; but his habits are peculiar. To my certain knowledge his whole personal wardrobe goes about the world tied up in a spotted handkerchief. He has no make-up box but just carries a stick of red rouge and powdered chalk screwed up in paper like tobacco in his pocket. He puts it on with his finger and rubs it in with a bit of brown paper. Nobody knows in any town where he lodges, but he is always punctual at rehearsal, and if in an emergency he happens to be needed, you can generally find him smoking peacefully in the nearest public-house. He has never been heard to speak an unnecessary word, and in ordinary life looks so like a death’s head that he goes by the name of ‘Old Mortality.’” Evereld laughed at this curious description. “He is the sort of man Charles Lamb might have written an essay about,” she said. “Now let me see if I have grasped the rest of them. The retired Naval Captain, Mr. Tempest, is the heavy man, isn’t he? Then there are those two young Oxonians--they are Juveniles. And Ralph’s friend, Mr. Mowbray, the briefless barrister, what is he?” “He’s the Responsible man,” said Macneillie. “Mr. Brinton, I know, is the old man. And Mr. Thornton, what do you call him?” “Oh, he is the Utility man. Come you would stand a pretty good examination.” Those spring days were very happy both to Ralph and Evereld, while Macneillie who had been anxious as to the little bride’s comfort and well-being, began to feel entirely at rest on that score. It cheered him not a little to have her bright face and thoughtful housewifely ways making a home out of each temporary resting place. Her great charm was her ready sympathy and a certain restfulness and quietness of temperament very soothing to highly-strung artistic natures. When the two men returned from the theatre, it was delightful to find her comfortably ensconced with her needlework, ready to take keen interest in hearing about everything, and always giving a pleasant welcome to any visitor they might bring back with them. There was nothing fussy about Evereld: she was the ideal wife for a man of Ralph’s eager Keltic temperament.