At this moment the object of her reflective scrutiny turned his head. Miss Allison demonstrated her indifference by blushing hotly and thereafter devoted her attention to his stepbrother.

It seemed a very long time before old Mrs. Kane rose from the table. Jim Kane held open the door for the ladies to pass out of the room, and Miss Allison's kind heart overcame her judgment. He was looking rather worried and certainly puzzled. She was afraid all at once that her studied disregard of him had hurt his feelings, and, instead of going out of the room without paying any heed to him, she raised her eyes to his face and gave him a faint smile. His brow cleared; he smiled back at her so warmly that she almost repented of her humane impulse.

In the drawing room it was her first duty to see Mrs. Kane comfortably ensconced in her favourite chair, a footstool under her feet and her ebony cane within her reach. In the performance of these offices she was slightly hindered by Betty Pemble, who said: "Oh, do let me!" and brought up too high a footstool and tried to insert a cushion behind her hostess. As Mrs. Kane came of a stiff-backed generation and despised women who could not sit up without such soft support, this piece of thoughtfulness was not well received. Nor did Mrs. Pemble's next utterance tend to make her more popular. "I think Mr. Kane is simply marvellous!" she said.

Emily's faded blue eyes stared glassily at her. "In what way?" she asked.

Mrs. Pemble, forgetting that she was addressing a lady over eighty years old, said: "I mean, when you think of this being his sixtieth birthday, it just doesn't seem possible, somehow."

Emily looked at her with contempt and confined her response to one blighting dissyllable. "Indeed!" she said and, turning to Miss Allison, requested her to close one of the windows. "There is a nasty fog creeping up," she announced. "I can feel it in my bones."