"I think Douglas is very well satisfied with my company," retorted the girl, rather nettled by the implied slight, "and these two bores, as you call them, certainly will not amuse him." "Very well; ask Hardwick also. He isn't a bore and Montrose likes him." "Julian isn't very well, father. He hasn't been since you found him on the moor fainting. But I shall send the invitation. Shall you ask Señor Narvaez?" "No!" said her father sharply and uneasily, for his body still tingled with the memory of Don Pablo's reproof. "I shan't submit him to the ordeal of enduring so dull a set of people." "Complimentary to us all," said Alice dryly, then regretted the retort; "I am sure you wish to make things pleasant for Douglas." "Of course! I wish him to stay here as long as he likes," said Enistor, with an emphasis which she could not quite understand. "See that everything is all right, my dear. I want the dinner-party to be a success." Rather amazed at the way in which her usually selfish father sacrificed himself, Alice consulted the housekeeper, and made all preparations for this rare festivity. When the evening came, the parson and his wife duly arrived and at their heels followed Hardwick, who had willingly accepted the chance of an evening in the company of Alice, whom he loved as a sister, and Montrose, who appealed to him as an unusually agreeable and decent fellow. The Squire welcomed his guests cordially, and took Mrs. Sparrow in to dinner. She was a faded, colourless woman with a washed-out appearance, markedly accentuated by the gauzy grey dress she wore. Alice in a delicate pink frock, which set off her evasive beauty to great advantage, looked like a fresh sunrise beside a wet, misty autumn day. Douglas could not keep his eyes off her and Hardwick was equally pressing in his attentions. "But you must not over-tax your strength, Julian," said Alice, when she found herself at the dinner-table between the artist and Mr. Sparrow, who had escorted her thereto. "Oh, I am all right now," replied Hardwick, "no better and no worse than I ever was. You were surprised when your father told you?" "I was greatly grieved, Julian. And it seems so strange that a big man such as you are should be so delicate. You should see a doctor." "I have seen several, but they can do me no good," said the artist sadly. "In every way I am healthy, so there is nothing to cure. All I lack is what they cannot give me, and that is a new supply of life-force." "If it is vitality you want, Hardwick," said Montrose, speaking across the table, "you should consult Dr. Eberstein, who is coming down shortly to Perchton. He is wonderful in many ways and I am certain he would do you good." "He cannot breathe more breath of life into a man than what that man already has," said Mr. Sparrow, in a tone of sad rebuke. "God alone is able to do that." "Therefore," murmured Mrs. Sparrow, in an equally sad tone, "you should pray for strength, Mr. Hardwick. We are told to do so."