Lennox moved away with a little sigh, which Celia heard, though it was all but inaudible. The girl's tender heart quivered for him, for she was far from endorsing her elder sister's startling suggestion that Lennox did not really "care for her." "He is just devoted to her--quite devoted," thought Celia. "How unlucky it seems! These things generally go that way, I suppose; at least, if what one reads in novels is true. I hope that I shall never care for any one, and that no one will care for me, for it would be sure to be only on one side or the other." She had no time to say anything consoling or sympathising to her cousin--indeed, what could she have said?--for he was already told off to his lady, the young Mrs Fancourt, whom Mr Balderson had alluded to; and Celia herself was soon appropriated by the husband of the pretty little woman in question, on whose arm she made her way down-stairs. She had scarcely looked at him; she was thinking so much of Winifred and Lennox, that she was quite indifferent about her own fate, and Mr Fancourt, a good-natured man, whose rather limited ideas were entirely absorbed by admiration for his wife, soon gave her up as decidedly dull and heavy. Celia did not care--she had plenty to think of and plenty to amuse herself with; she was rather glad when her monosyllables resulted in Mr Fancourt's directing his attentions to the woman on his other side. And one or two courses had been removed before a voice on her right hand startled her into realising that she had a neighbour in that quarter too. "Miss Maryon, what are you thinking about so intently?" were the words she heard. "I have been watching you for quite five minutes--you are in a regular brown study." Celia started, then smiled, and, finally, as she became satisfied that Eric--for it was he--was not really shocked at her, could not repress a little laugh. "I am so sorry," she said. "Why didn't you speak to me before? I didn't even know you were there." "So I saw--at least, I hoped it was so--that there was no special motive in the resolute way in which you turned a cold shoulder upon me, and--" "No," said Celia, laughing again, "my shoulders are not at all cold, thank you. This part of the room is delightfully out of any draught." "And," continued Eric, "fixed your eyes upon the flowers in front of you, and let your thoughts wander to--No! that I can't guess. I wonder where they were wandering to." CHAPTER THREE. AT THE DINNER-TABLE. "Not very far," said Celia, smiling, and colouring a little. "I was very much entertained by watching all the people round the table, and perhaps I was thinking mostly of poor old Len." Eric looked across in young Maryon's direction. "Why do you say `_poor_ old Len'?" he inquired. "I think he's quite happy. Mrs Fancourt seems to be drawing him out beautifully." Celia glanced at her companion doubtfully. "Do you really think so?" she asked, "or are you saying it to--to draw me out?"