"I'm glad you liked it," responded Eustace equably, and again there was silence between them. The moonlight shone on both their faces, on his, massive and masterful with a poetic look in his wonderfully eloquent eyes, and on hers, delicate, distinct and fragile, as if it had been carved from ivory. Light laughter from the two young people at the end of the terrace, a deep murmur of conversation from within, where Sir Guy strove gallantly to entertain his drowsy guest, but this man and woman, oblivious of all else, remained absorbed in their own thoughts. Of what was she thinking? of her past sorrow, her present happiness, her doubtful future (for the future is doubtful with all humanity)--Who could tell? Eustace, delicately sympathetic as he was, stood outside the closed portals of her soul, into which no man, not even her husband, had penetrated. But men and women, however closely allied, how, ever passionately attached, however unreserved in their confidences, never know one another's souls. There is always a something behind all which is never revealed, which the soul feels intensely itself, yet shrinks from disclosing even to nearest and dearest, and it is this vague secret which all feel, yet none tell, that makes humanity live in loneliest isolation from each other. Perhaps Lady Errington was thinking of this hidden secret of her soul which none knew, nor ever would know, but Eustace, softened for the moment by the unexpected maternal emotion his song had evoked, was envying his cousin the possession of this cold, silent woman. Had he known her personally before her marriage he might not have cared much about her, save in a friendly way, but his eccentric imagination had endowed her with a vague charm, which no other woman possessed, and the knowledge that she belonged to another man made him bitterly regretful. It was ever thus with the whimsical character of Eustace Gartney. Place something within his reach, and he despised it, place it beyond his hope of attainment, and he would strain every nerve to possess it. He lived in the pursuit of the unattainable, which of all things had the greatest charm for him, and this unattainable vision of charming womanhood filled his soul with passionate anguish and desire. Suddenly, with a sigh, Lady Errington lifted up her eyes and saw Eustace looking at her, respectfully enough, yet with a certain meaning in his gaze which caused her vague embarrassment, she knew not why. "Your music has made me dream, Mr. Gartney," she said, nervously opening her fan. "You are of a sensitive nature, perhaps." She sighed again. "Yes, very sensitive. It is a most unhappy thing to be impressionable, one feels things other people count as nothing." "Other people are wise," said Eustace in an ironical tone, "they take Talleyrand's advice about a happy life, and--are happy." "What is your experience?"