The feminine temperament, however, was not in that state of dispassionate, yet unreasoning decision in which he imagined it to be. These were unhappy days for Ella. She seemed to have become to herself a vague entity wandering in a land of shadows, forced by some unknown power therein to wander, and finding her only hope of salvation in one elusive light that gleamed fitfully in the distance. Her aunt, being a practical woman, was quick to notice the habitual contraction of her brow and the wearied preoccupation in her eyes. Nowadays she openly mocked at the Colony. On such occasions Ella fired up, defended it with the fierceness of a forlorn hope. Lady Milmo was puzzled. She even went the length of consulting Sylvester, surprising him considerably by a morning call in Weymouth Street. “The Colony's a fraud, and she knows it's a fraud,” she said, in the vernacular of her class. “And yet she pins her immortal soul to it. Why doesn't she marry the man and be done with it? But no--she won't do that. She's making herself ill because the Colony isn't likely to come off, which is distinctly good business, and what on earth she can find to interest her in the rubbishy scheme, goodness only knows. If she only painted, or wrote poetry, or out-Wagnered Wagner in immortal tunelessness, one could perhaps understand. But she's no more artistic than you are.” “I know I'm a Philistine,” smiled Sylvester, at the tribute of the artless lady. “Is that why you 've come to me?” “Oh, you know what I mean,” returned Lady Milmo. “Now can't you put some sense into her, or get that dear Mr. Lanyon to do so? It's my impression she isn't in love with him one little bit.” “Then, for Heaven's sake, my dear Lady Milmo,” said Sylvester, earnestly, “do all you can to impress that fact upon him!” “I should be glad if the engagement were broken off,” said Lady Milmo, reflectively. “So would all the true friends of Ella Defries,” replied Sylvester. Lady Milmo arched her eyebrows. She looked at him for a moment quizzically. “Is that purely a disinterested remark, Dr. Lanyon?” “I would not marry one single woman that is now living on this earth,” said Sylvester. “Why, whatever have we poor creatures done to you? There are some men, I know, who look upon women as a disease, but I'm sure you 're not one.” Sylvester scanned his finger nails,--a trick he had caught from his father. “One marriage is enough for a man, Lady Milmo,” he said in a low voice. Lady Milmo was conscious of an indiscretion. She escaped adroitly and led the talk back to Roderick. “I think we'd better get this silly affair of Ella's broken off, don't you?” she said at parting. “If you could manage it, my father and myself would be exceedingly grateful to you,” he replied.