He proposed that they should do something unconventional and delightful,
and meet the next day in Kensington Gardens, which he assured her was
just as good as the country just now. She agreed, and they made an
appointment.

'How is Mrs Raymond?' she then asked abruptly.

'I don't know. Mrs Raymond--she's charming, and a great friend of mine,
of course; but we've quarrelled. At least I'm not going to see
her again.'

'Poor Mrs Raymond!' exclaimed Hyacinth. 'Or perhaps I ought to be sorry
for you?'

'No, not if you let me sec you sometimes.' He looked at her radiant face
and felt the soothing, rather intoxicating, effect of her admiration
after Eugenia's coldness.... He took her hand and held it for a minute,
and then they parted with the prospect of meeting the next day.

Hyacinth went home too happy even to speak to Anne about it. She was
filled with hope. He _must_ care for her.

And Cecil felt as if he were a strange, newly-invented kind of criminal.
Either, he said to himself, he was playing with the feelings of this
dear, beautiful creature, or he was drifting into a _mariage de
convenance_, a vulgar and mercenary speculation, while all the time he
was madly devoted to someone else. He felt guilty, anxious, and furious
with Eugenia. But she had really meant what she said that morning; she
wouldn't see him again. But the thought of seeing Hyacinth under the