incidentally a very decent pension, he acquired gout and went to his
long rest in Kensal Green Cemetery. He left his wife with one daughter,
and the only pretence to a title in our otherwise blameless family.

My cousin Daphne is a very pretty girl, with those quiet, sedate manners
which often develop later in life into genuine self-respect and real
depth of character. Fools do not admire her; they accuse her of being
"heavy." But she can do without fools; she has a fine, strongly built
figure, an upright carriage, a large and broad forehead, a firm chin,
and features which, though well-marked and well-moulded, are yet
delicate in outline and sensitive in expression. Very young men seldom
take to Daphne: she lacks the desired inanity. But she has mind, repose,
and womanly tenderness. Indeed, if she had not been my cousin, I almost
think I might once have been tempted to fall in love with her.

When I reached Gloucester Terrace, on this particular afternoon, I found
Hilda Wade there before me. She had lunched at my aunt's, in fact. It
was her "day out" at St. Nathaniel's, and she had come round to spend it
with Daphne Tepping. I had introduced her to the house some time before,
and she and my cousin had struck up a close acquaintance immediately.
Their temperaments were sympathetic; Daphne admired Hilda's depth and
reserve, while Hilda admired Daphne's grave grace and self-control, her
perfect freedom from current affectations. She neither giggled nor aped
Ibsenism.

A third person stood back in the room when I entered--a tall and
somewhat jerry-built young man, with a rather long and solemn face, like
an early stage in the evolution of a Don Quixote. I took a good look
at him. There was something about his air that impressed me as both
lugubrious and humorous; and in this I was right, for I learned later