Eve looked up from the book she was reading, and Mrs. Harrington tempered her curt manner of expressing her wishes with a rare smile.

She often did this for Eve's benefit, almost unconsciously. In some indefinite way she was rather afraid of this girl.

"I will do my best," answered Eve, her mind only half weaned from the pages.

She had been ten days in the house, and the somewhat luxurious comfort of it appealed to a faintly developed love of peace and ease which had been filtered into her soul with the air of a Southern land. She had found it easier to get on with Mrs. Harrington than she at first antic.i.p.ated. Her nature, which was essentially womanly, had in reality long craved for the intimate sympathy and intercourse which only another woman could supply. There was something indolent and restful in the very atmosphere of the house that supplied a distinct want in the motherless girl's life. There were a number of vague possibilities of trouble in the world, half perceived, half divined by Eve; which possibilities Mrs. Harrington seemed capable of meeting and fending off.

It was all indefinite and misty, but Eve felt at rest, and, as it were, under protection, in the house of this hard, cold woman of the world.

"It can only be a black one," the girl answered.

"Yes; but people don't know what a black dress is until they have seen one that has been made in Spain."

Eve did not return at once to her book. She was, in fact, thinking about her dress--being in no way superior to such matters.

When she came down into the drawing-room, an hour later, she found awaiting her there the two men about whom she thought most.

Cipriani de Lloseta and Fitz were standing on the hearthrug together. Mrs. Harrington had not yet come down. They came forward together, the Count taking her hand first, with his courteous bow.

Fitz followed, shaking hands in silence, with that simplicity which she had learned to look for and to like in him.

"I wonder," said Eve, "why Mrs. Harrington did not tell me that you were the two friends she expected to dinner?"

The Count smiled darkly.

"Perhaps our hostess does not know that we have met before--" he began; and stopped suddenly when the door opened, and the rustle of Mrs. Harrington's silk dress heralded her coming.

Her quick eyes flashed over them with a comprehensive appreciation of the situation.

"You all seem to know each other," she said sharply. "I knew that Fitz had been of some service to you at D'Erraha; but I was not aware that you knew the Count de Lloseta."

"The Count de Lloseta was very kind to me at Barcelona--on a matter of business," explained Eve innocently.

Mrs. Harrington turned upon the Spaniard quickly, but nevertheless too late to catch the warning frown which he had directed towards Eve. Mrs. Harrington looked keenly into his face, which was blandly imperturbable.

"Then you are the owner of D'Erraha?"

"I am."

Mrs. Harrington gave a strange little laugh.

"What a rich man you are!" she said. "Come! Let us go to dinner."

She took the Count's arm, and led the way to the dining-room. She was visibly absent-minded at first, as if pondering over something which had come as a surprise to her. Then she woke from her reverie, and, turning to Fitz, said -

"And what do you think of the Baleares?"

"I like them," returned Fitz curtly.

He thought it was bad taste thus to turn the conversation upon a subject which could only be painful to Eve. He only thought of Eve, and therefore did not notice the patient endurance of the Count's face.

De Lloseta was taking his soup with a slow concentration of his attention upon its flavour, as if trying not to hear the conversation. Mrs. Harrington looked sharply at him, and in doing so failed to intercept a glance, exchanged by Fitz and Eve across the table.

"Why are you here?" Fitz seemed to be asking.

And Eve rea.s.sured him by a little smile.

"There is one advantage in your long exile at Mahon," pursued the hostess inexorably. "It must have been economical. You could not have wanted money there."

Fitz laughed.

"Hardly so Arcadian as that," he said.

The Count looked up.

"I suppose," he said, "that the port where one does not want money is yet to be discovered?"

Mrs. Harrington, sipping her sherry, glanced at the speaker.

"Surely," she said lightly, "you are talking of what you know absolutely nothing."

"Pardon me"--without looking up.

Mrs. Harrington laughed.

"Ah," she said, "we three know too much about you to believe that.

Now, what can a lone man like you want with money?"

"A lone man may happen to be saddled with a name of--well, of some repute--an expensive luxury."

"And you think that a great name is worth spending a fortune upon, like a garden, merely to keep it up?"

"I do."

"You think it worth all that?"

The dark, inscrutable eyes were raised deliberately to her face.

"a.s.suredly you must know that I do," he said.

Mrs. Harrington laughed, and changed the subject. She knew this man's face well, and her knowledge told her that he was at the end of his patience.

"So you saw Luke at Gibraltar?" she said, turning to Fitz.

"Yes, for a short time. I had never seen the Croonah before. She is a fine ship."

"So I understand. So fine, indeed, that two friends of mine, the Ingham-Bakers, were induced to go to Malta in her. There is no limit now to feminine enterprise. Mothers are wonderful, and their daughters no less so. N'est-ce pas, Senor?"

"All ladies are wonderful!" said the Count, with a grave bow. "They are as the good G.o.d made them."