jealous ones--are directed. But his duties as host compel him, sorely
against his will, to draw back a little from the proffered honor, and
to consult the wishes of his guests rather than his own. Miss Delmaine
herself has laughingly declined to make any choice of a stage lover, so
that, up to the present moment, matters are still in such a state of
confusion and uncertainty that they have been unable to name any date
for the production of their play.

It is four o'clock, and they are all standing or sitting in the
library, intent as usual in discussing the difficulty. They are all
talking together, and, in the excitement that prevails, no one hears the
door open, or the footman's calm, introduction of a gentleman, who now
comes leisurely up to where Sir Adrian is standing, leaning over
Florence Delmaine's chair.

He is a tall man of about thirty-five, with a dark face and dark eyes,
and, withal, a slight resemblance to Sir Adrian.

"Ah, Arthur, is it you!" says Sir Adrian, in a surprised tone that has
certainly no cordiality in it, but, just as certainly, the tone is not
repellent.

"Yes," replies the stranger, with a languid smile, and without
confusion. "Yesterday I suddenly recollected the general invitation you
gave me a month ago to come to you at any time that suited me best. This
time suits me, and so I have come."

He still smiles as he says this, and looks expectantly at Sir Adrian,
who, as in duty bound, instantly tells him he is very glad to see him,
and that he is a good fellow to have come without waiting for a more