“You may hide it, but I can possess it any moment I choose. You don’t know my skill in sleight of hand; I might practise as a conjuror if I liked. Mamma says sometimes, too, that I have a harmonizing property of tongue and eye; but you never saw that in me⁠—did you, Lucy?”

“Indeed⁠—indeed⁠—when you were a mere boy I used to see both, far more then than now⁠—for now you are strong, and strength dispenses with subtlety. But still⁠— Dr. John, you have what they call in this country un air fin , 131 that nobody can mistake. Madame Beck saw it, and⁠—”

“And liked it,” said he, laughing, “because she has it herself. But, Lucy, give me that letter⁠—you don’t really care for it.”

To this provocative speech I made no answer. Graham in mirthful mood must not be humoured too far. Just now there was a new sort of smile playing about his lips⁠—very sweet, but it grieved me somehow⁠—a new sort of light sparkling in his eyes, not hostile, but not reassuring. I rose to go⁠—I bid him good night a little sadly.

His sensitiveness⁠—that peculiar, apprehensive, detective faculty of his⁠—felt in a moment the unspoken complaint⁠—the scarce-thought reproach. He asked quietly if I was offended. I shook my head as implying a negative.