it rolled away down the street); he had returned at this unusual
hour. Such eagerness had her approval; and coupling it with
Isabel's demeanor upon leaving the table the previous evening,
never before so radiant with love, she felt that she had ground for
believing the final ambition of her life near its fulfilment.

As he advanced, the worldly passions other nature--the jungle
passions--she had no others--saluted him with enthusiasm. His head
and neck and bearing, stature and figure, family and family
history, house and lands--she inventoried them all once more and
discovered no lack. When he had rung the bell, she leaned back;
in her chair and eavesdropped with sparkling eyes.

"Is Miss Conyers at home?"

The maid replied apologetically:

"She wished to be excused to-day, Mr. Meredith."

A short silence followed. Then he spoke as a man long conscious of
a peculiar footing:

"Will you tell her Mr. Meredith would like to see her," and without
waiting to be invited he walked into the library across the hall.

She heard the maid go upstairs with hesitating step.

Some time passed before she came down. She brought a note and
handed it to him, saying with some embarrassment: