She had chalked her cue while she was talking, but after taking her aim,
she dropped her arm irresolutely.

'Do you know I'm afraid I can't play to-night,' she said.

'Helvellyn and the fog and the wind have quite spoilt my nerve. Shall we
go to the drawing-room, and see if Fräulein has recovered from her
gloomy fit?'

'I would rather stay here, where we are free to talk; but I'll do
whatever you like best.'

Mary preferred the drawing-room. It was very sweet to be alone with her
lover, but she was weighed down with confusion in his presence. The
novelty, the wonderment of her position overpowered her. She yearned for
the shelter of Fräulein Müller's wing, albeit the company of that most
prosaic person was certain death to romance.

Miss Müller was in her accustomed seat by the fire, knitting her
customary muffler. She had appropriated Lady Maulevrier's place, much to
Mary's disgust. It irked the girl to see that stout, clumsy figure in
the chair which had been filled by her grandmother's imperial form. The
very room seemed vulgarised by the change.

Fräulein looked up with a surprised air when Mary and Hammond entered
together, the girl smiling and happy. She had expected that Mary would
have left her ladyship's room in tears, and would have retired to her
own apartment to hide her swollen eyelids and humiliated aspect. But
here she was, after the fiery ordeal of an interview with her offended