With a curious sense of uneasiness, Marius Lyndwood, entering his brother’s drawing-room, saw the Countess there, alone.

It was about five of the clock and the gorgeous chamber was full of sunshine. The Countess sat by the window teasing a crimson and green macaw that swung in an ebony ring; she wore a black and white striped dress and a muslin fichu edged with glittering silver ribbon.

She did not rise to greet him.

“Good afternoon, Captain Lyndwood,” she said, and continued to busy herself with the parrot; he hesitated a moment, then crossed the room to kiss her hand, still she did not look at him.

“My lord is abroad?” he asked.

The Countess lifted her shoulders.

“I suppose so.”

Then she regarded him, covertly.

“You go to Paris, Captain Lyndwood?”

“I have not yet taken my resolution, madam.”

She smiled and rose.

“You came to see my husband?”

“Yes, madam.”

The Countess moved towards the mantelpiece.

“Do you love your brother, sir?” she asked abruptly, and fixed her powerful dark eyes on him.

Marius Lyndwood made an effort to meet her on her own ground.

“What is your meaning in that question, madam?”

“This meaning,” she answered, “that I do not think you know him——”

“My lord has ever done his duty by me,” said Marius.

“There is the point,” cried the Countess. “You do not guess how he has behaved to me.”

“I cannot listen to this, madam,” he interrupted in an agitated voice, but she would not be stopped.

“It is not long ago that you were kissing my shadow, Marius—are we now such strangers that I must conceal from you that my life is utter misery?”

“Indeed it can be no matter of mine,” he answered, very pale.

The Countess clasped the edge of the chimney-piece.

“It is very much a matter of yours. My lord, ye say, does his duty by you; but what of me? Do you dare to have no pity? The money that gave you your career was the price of my degradation——”

“Enough of that,” he exclaimed. “I have had very little from the Earl, and mean now to be free of him altogether.”

“But I,” she said, “can never be free.”

She was silent a second, then added with a quiet force:

“Did you know him as I have to know him you would hate him”—her voice sank—“even as I do.”

Marius Lyndwood shuddered.

“I must not hear this.”

“You shall hear this. His bargain with my father cannot save him, my fortune has gone like sand through his fingers, and your noble House will come very surely to utter ruin.”

“You speak as if I were to blame,” said Marius sombrely. “I am not my lord’s monitor; what would you have me do? I have not been over contented or very much at ease this last year.”

He was angry with his brother though he would not admit so much, even to himself; he half disdained the Countess, but felt that truth and justice were on her side—he was attracted by her and repelled and troubled by her presence beyond the power of speech.

“Well,” she spoke more quietly. “You will go abroad again, and I am sorry, for it will leave me more utterly lonely; well, well.”

Marius moved silently to the window with a heavy step and looked out on the flat houses, the dusty sunshine, the barren blue sky.

He turned again at a slight exclamation from the Countess.

Rose Lyndwood had entered; he wore riding boots, and was wrapped in a pale pink mantle; he carried his white gauntlets and a short whip; he looked at his brother and an indescribable chill fell between them.

Marius bowed formally.

“Good even,” said the Earl, and glanced at his wife; “it is unusual to find you at home at this hour, madam; Marius was fortunate.”

“I met him yesterday in your mother’s house, my lord, and heard of his intent to come here today; therefore I am at home.”

With that she swept a curtsey and left them alone, save for that nameless discontent and coldness breathing like another presence between them.

“The Countess is seldom at my mother’s house,” said Rose, as the door closed on her; “strange you should have met there.”

Marius did not answer; the level beams of the sun just sinking behind the houses on the other side of the square struck brilliantly on his bright uniform and flushed face.

“You have decided to go to Paris?” asked my lord.

“No,” answered Marius in a constrained way, “I have decided to remain in London, sir.”

“I think you are wrong,” said the Earl. “There are few chances in London; but it is for you to choose your own way.”

He seated himself on the couch, and Marius looked at him earnestly; my lord glanced up and their eyes met.

“Do you wish an appointment about the Court?” asked the Earl; his handsome eyes were weary and his face pallid in contrast with his bright unpowdered hair. Marius could not understand what had happened to make them such strangers, nor how in a year they could have drifted so far apart; a sensation of utter depression came over him.

“What is the matter with you, Marius?” asked Rose Lyndwood with a slight note of challenge in his voice.

His brother gazed out into the grey street from which the sun had disappeared.

“I do not wish to hang about the Court, my lord.”

The Earl observed him sharply.

“What do you propose to do?”

Marius kept his face averted.

“I wish to go somewhere, to be quartered in some country town, where I can live on my pay,” he answered reservedly.

“By Gad!” said my lord softly. “What whim is this?”

Marius turned swiftly.

“Isn’t it an honest wish, my lord? Isn’t it an honest wish to desire to take no more money from you?”

“Are we discussing honesty?” smiled the Earl. “You are in a strange mood, Marius.”

The young soldier coloured, gloom overcame him again.

“Your lordship and I will never understand each other,” he said hopelessly.

“Why not?” asked his brother kindly.

“I do not know.” Marius spoke in a constrained way. “I suppose that we are in such different positions—of such different natures.”

My lord gave his charming laugh.

“You go too deep for me, Marius; say what you wish and I will endeavour to comprehend it.”

But Marius Lyndwood was silent.

“What is this between you and me?” continued the Earl lightly. “You have a look of judgment as one who would say, ‘Faith, I am ashamed of this brother of mine.’”

“I do not like this life,” answered Marius gloomily. “Nothing is as I thought it would be-matters seem very worthless.”

Rose Lyndwood laughed.

“Your malady is plain, my dear: you are too young and too serious; a season in London will cure you.”

Marius moved from the window.

“I might have known that you would sneer at me,” he said, holding his head haughtily, “but scoff as you will, my lord, I have no zest for these follies that please you.”

My lord laughed again; there was no change in his handsome face; under his air of lightness a melancholy indifference seemed habitual.

“My follies are my own affair, are they not?” he asked carelessly.

“I do not know,” answered Marius, “but it seems to me ’tis an ignoble business, as you have handled it.”

“As I have handled it?” questioned the Earl.

“You will reprove me for my impertinence if I speak further,” said Marius, “and you are the head of the house; yet perhaps those few years between us do not rob me of the right to say that your courses go far to dishonour us.”

“Oh, Marius!” cried his brother, smiling, “thou art become a sad virtuous fellow; concern not thyself with me, thine own good qualities will save the name of Lyndwood.”

“’Tis a thing not wholly in my keeping,” replied Marius, kindling at the other’s manner. “You are the elder—well, no more, but I will none of your money, my lord, and none of your influence to push me into some idle place at Court.”

Rose Lyndwood ............