that very doleful poem yesterday, on this very theme?--that it's only
the certainty of death that makes life agreeable? By the way, George
Eliot had said it before!"

"The poem was by a friend of mine," said Lady Dunstable, coldly. "I read
it to you to see how it sounded. But I thought it poor stuff."

"How unkind of you! The man who wrote it says he lives upon your
friendship."

"That, perhaps, is why he's so thin."

Sir Luke laughed again.

"To be sure, I saw the poor man--after you had talked to him the other
night--going to Dunstable to be consoled. Poor George! he's always
healing the wounds you make."

"Of course. That's why I married him. George says all the civil things.
That sets me free to do the rude ones."

"Rachel!" The exclamation came from the plump lady opposite, who was
smiling broadly, and showing some very white teeth. A signal passed from
her eyes to those of Doris, as though to say "Don't be alarmed!"

But Doris was not at all alarmed. She was eagerly watching Lady
Dunstable, as one watches for the mannerisms of some well-known
performer. Sir Luke perceived it, and immediately began to show off his
hostess by one of the sparring matches that were apparently frequent
between them. They fell to discussing a party of guests--landowners from