The “is part of the business—yvou forget! And besides, if IT didn't, I should be play ing bézique with my aunt at Richfield Springs.” “That's almost as bad as marrying Dill- worth,” he agreed, and they Hoth laughed for pure pleasure in thelr sudden intimacy. She elanced at the clock. ‘Dear me! I must be off. It's after five.” She paused before the mantelpiece, studying herself in the mirror while she ad- justed her veil. The attitude revealed the Jong slope of her slender sides, which gave a kind of wild-wood grace to her outline—as though she were a captured drvad subdued to the conventions of the drawing-room; and Selden reflected that 1t was the same streak of sylvan freedom in her nature that lent such savour to her artificiality. He followed her across the room to the entrance-hall; but on the threshold she held out her hand with a gesture of leave- taking, “It's been delightful; have to return my visit.” “But don’t vou want me to see vou to the station 2” “No; good bye here, ple: se. She let her hand lic in his a moment, smiling up at him adorably. “(Good bye, then—and luck at Beliomont!” he said, opening the door for her. On the landing she paused to look about her. There were a thousand chances to one against her meeting anvbody, but one could never tell, and she wavs paid for wer rare indiscretions by a violent reaction of prudence. There was no one in sight, however, but a char-woman who was scrubbing the stairs. Her own stout per- son and its surrounding implements took up so much room that Lily, to pass her, had to gather up her skirts and brush against the wall. As she did so) the woman paused in her work and looked up curiously, rest- ing her clenched red fists on the wet cloth “he had just drawn from her pail. She had v broad, sallow face, slightly pitted with mall pon, and thin straw-coloured hair through which her scalp shone unpleas- antly, “1 beg vour pardon,” aid Lilv, intend- ing by her politeness to convey a criticism of the others manner. and now vou will good The woman, without answering, pushed her pail aside, and continued to stare as Miss Bart swept by with a murmur of silken linings. Lily felt herself flushing under the look. What did the creature suppose? Could one never do the simplest, the most harmless thing, without subjecting one’s self to some odious conjecture? Half way down the next flight, she smiled to think that a char-woman’s stare should so per- turb her. The poor thing was probably dazzled by such an unwonted apparition. But were such apparitions unwonted on Selden’s stairs? Miss Bart was not famil- iar with the moral code of bachelors’ flat- houses, and her colour rose again as it oc- curred to her that the woman's persistent gaze implied a groping among past associ- ations. But she put aside the | thought with a smile at her own apprehensiveness, and hastened downward, wondering if she should find a cab short of Fifth Avenue. Under the Georgian porch she paused again, scanning the street for a hansom. None was in sight, but as she reached the sidewalk she ran against a small glossy- looking man with a gardenia in his coat, who raised his hat with a surprised excla- mation. “Miss Bart? Well—of all people! This is luck,” he declared; and she caught a twinkle of amused curiosity between his screwed-up lids. “Oh, Mr. Rosedale—how are you?” she said, feeling the irrepressible annoyance on her face reflected in the sudden intimacy of his smile. Mr. Rosedale stood scanning her with interest and approval. He was a plump, rosy man of the blond Jewish type, with smart London clothes fitting him like up- holstery, and small sidelong eyes which cave him the air of appraising people as if they were bric-a-brac. He glanced up in- terrogatively at the porch of the Benedick. “Been up to town for a little shopping, 1 suppose 2?” he said, in a tone which had the familiarity of a touch. Miss Bart shrank from it slightly, and then lung herself into precipitate explanations. “Yes—I came up to see my dress-maker. I am just on my way to catch the train to the Trenors’)” “Ah—your dress-maker; just so,”’ he said blandly. “1 didn’t know there were
any dress-makers in the Benedick.”38
The House of Mirth
