her presence his cynicism was evanescent. She sat on a little sofa,
covered with an Indian shawl; behind her was a great bronze, the
celebrated gift of a celebrated Rajah to her mother. Mrs. Young had
been on a tour in the East with her husband, and ever since her house
had been frequented by decrepit old gentlemen interested in Arabi,
and other matters which they spoke of as Eastern questions.

Lily looked at Mike under her eyes as she passed across the room to
get him some tea, and they talked a little while. Then some three or
four great and very elderly historians entered, and she had to leave
him; and feeling he could not prolong his visit he went, conscious of
sensations of purity and some desire of goodness, if not for itself,
for the grace that goodness brings. He paid many visits in this
house, but conversations with learned Buddhists seemed the only
result; a _tête-à-tête_ with Lily seemed impossible. To his surprise
he never met her in society, and his heart beat fast when one evening
he heard she was expected; and for the first time forgetful of the
multitude, and nervous as a school-boy in search of his first love,
he sought her in the crowd. He feared to remain with her, and it
seemed to him he had accomplished much in asking her to come down to
supper. When talking to others his thoughts were with her, and his
eyes followed her. An inquisitive woman noted his agitation, and
suspecting the cause, said, "I see, I see, and I think something may
come of it." Even when Lily left he did not recover his ordinary
humour, and about two in the morning, in sullen weariness and
disappointment, he offered to drive Lady Helen home.

Should he make love to her? He had often wished to. Here was an
opportunity.