taken of her, except by the younger of my pupils, who called out,--

"Hallo, Alice! Are you down?"

She smiled and nodded, but did not speak. Everything went on as usual.
There was no change in her behaviour, except in one point. I ventured
the experiment of paying her some ordinary enough attention. She thanked
me, without a trace of the scornful expression I all but expected to see
upon her beautiful face. But when I addressed her about the weather, or
something equally interesting, she made no reply; and Lady Hilton gave
me a stare, as much as to say, "Don't you know it's of no use to talk to
her?" Alice saw the look, and colouring to the eyes, rose, and left the
room. When she had gone, Lady Hilton said to me,--

"Don't speak to her, Mr. Campbell--it distresses her. She is very
peculiar, you know."

She could not hide the scorn and dislike with which she spoke; and I
could not help saying to myself, "What a different thing scorn looks on
_your_ face, Lady Hilton!" for it made her positively and hatefully ugly
for the moment--to my eyes, at least.

After this, Alice sat down with us at all our meals, and seemed
tolerably well. But, in some indescribable way, she was quite a
different person from the Lady Alice who had twice awaked in my
presence. To use a phrase common in describing one of weak
intellect--she never seemed to be all there. There was something
automatical in her movements; and a sort of frozen indifference was the
prevailing expression of her countenance. When she smiled, a sweet light
shone in her eyes, and she looked for the moment like the Lady Alice of