Maunders' aunt was a thin, aristocratic, pale-faced old lady, prim in her dress and manners. She occupied a quiet, unpretentious house at Hampstead, not far from "Rangoon." A note from her had brought Vernon to see her, and now the two were seated in a pointedly antiquated drawing-room, talking earnestly. Everything about the house and its owner was prim, and the whole atmosphere suggested early Victorian days. It seemed strange that so dismal and old-fashioned a house should be the home of an intensely modern young man like Constantine Maunders. But, as Mrs. Bedge informed Vernon, her nephew gave her very little of his society, as he had engaged rooms in town and lived in them the greater part of the week. "He only comes from a Saturday to a Monday to stop here," sighed Mrs. Bedge, folding her lean mittened hands on her drab-hued dress, "yet he knows how fond I am of his company." "Constantine was always selfish," remarked Vernon bluntly. Mrs. Bedge protested with the foolish fondness of an old woman. "Oh, indeed, you must not say that. Constantine is high-spirited, and I daresay that he thinks this place somewhat dull. But when he is here I invariably find him thoughtful and affectionate." This was very probable, since Mrs. Bedge had money, and Maunders expected to be her heir. It was not likely that so astute a person would risk the loss of a fortune. Something of this sort must have revealed itself in Vernon's eyes, for Mrs. Bedge, with the swift instinct of a woman, guessed what he was thinking about. "No," she said in her plaintive way, "it is not greed of money that makes Constantine love me, but his own sweet nature which gives affection, unasked. Constantine knows that I have spent a great deal on his education and in fitting him out in life. Now I have very little money left: this house, the furniture, and a few hundreds a year. When I die he will receive very little, poor boy. I thought it best that he should enjoy the money while he was young, and without waiting for my death." "Constantine ought to work," said Vernon, wondering at the blindness which could describe Maunders as unselfishly affectionate. "He intends to, when he can find something to his mind. And then, he is so handsome that he may make a rich marriage. I thought Ida Dimsdale would have taken him," sighed the old lady; "she has ten thousand a year and is also a very charming girl. But there is no hope for Constantine there." "You astonish me," said Vernon, and meant what he said. "I understood from Mr. Dimsdale himself that his daughter was in love with Constantine." "She was; she seemed to be quite crazy about him, but that was before the terrible death of her father two months ago. Since then she has shut herself up with Miss Hest at 'Rangoon,' and when Constantine has seen her, she has been quite different. She loves him no longer, and as good as told the poor boy so. It nearly broke his heart."