woman can render the man she loves is to enhance and prolong his
illusions about her rival. It was the fate of Margaret Aubyn's
memory to serve as a foil to Miss Trent's presence, and never had
the poor lady thrown her successor into more vivid relief.

Miss Trent had the charm of still waters that are felt to be
renewed by rapid currents. Her attention spread a tranquil
surface to the demonstrations of others, and it was only in days
of storm that one felt the pressure of the tides. This
inscrutable composure was perhaps her chief grace in Glennard's
eyes. Reserve, in some natures, implies merely the locking of
empty rooms or the dissimulation of awkward encumbrances; but Miss
Trent's reticence was to Glennard like the closed door to the
sanctuary, and his certainty of divining the hidden treasure made
him content to remain outside in the happy expectancy of the
neophyte.

"You didn't come to the opera last night," she began, in the tone
that seemed always rather to record a fact than to offer a
reflection on it.

He answered with a discouraged gesture. "What was the use? We
couldn't have talked."

"Not as well as here," she assented; adding, after a meditative
pause, "As you didn't come I talked to Aunt Virginia instead."

"Ah!" he returned, the fact being hardly striking enough to detach
him from the contemplation of her hands, which had fallen, as was
their wont, into an attitude full of plastic possibilities. One