as relating to herself. More especially did she understand at this
time that life may be compared to a stream, for she was vaguely
conscious of drifting she knew not whither.

Fitz had come suddenly into her life; Captain Bontnor had come into
it; and now this man, Cipriani de Lloseta, seemed to be asserting
his right to come into it too. And she did not know quite what to
do with them all. She had never, in the quiet, dreamy days of her
youth, pictured a life with any of these men in it, and the future
was suddenly tremendous, unfathomable. There were vast
possibilities in it of misery, of danger, of difficulty; and behind
these a vague, new feeling of a possible happiness far exceeding the
happiness of her peaceful childhood.

Without consulting her uncle, who had gone out into the street to
walk backwards and forwards before the door, as he had walked
backwards and forwards on his deck for forty years, she sat down and
accepted the Count's informal invitation. She seemed to do it
without reflection, as if impelled thereto by something stronger
than pro or con, as if acknowledging the Spaniard's right to come
into her life, bringing to bear upon it an influence which she never
attempted to fathom.

Thus it came about that Eve and Captain Bontnor found themselves
awaiting their host in the massive, gloomy drawing-room of the
Palace in the Calle de la Paz at five o'clock that afternoon.

Captain Bontnor had learnt a great deal during the last few days;
among other things he had learnt to love his niece with a simple,
dog-like devotion, which had a vein of pathos in it for those who