And Mike was sincere; he was determined to become worthy of Lily.  And now the best hours of his life—­hours strangely tense and strangely personal—­were passed in that Kensington drawing-room.  She was to him like the light of a shrine; he might kneel and adore from afar, but he might not approach.  The goddess had come to him like the moon to Endymion.  He knew nothing, not even if he were welcome.  Each visit was the same as the preceding.  A sweet but exasperating changelessness reigned in that drawing-room—­that pretty drawing-room where mother and daughter sat in sweet naturalness, removed from the grossness and meanness of life as he knew it.  Neither illicit whispering nor affectation of reserve, only the charm of strict behaviour; unreal and strange was the refinement, material and mental, in which they lived.  And for a time the charm sufficed; desire was at rest.  But she had been to see him, however at variance such a visit, such event seemed with her present demeanour.  And she must come again!  In increasing restlessness he conned all the narrow chances of meeting her, of speaking to her alone.  But no accident varied the even tenor of their lives, the calm lake-like impassibility of their relations, and in last resort he urged Frank to give a dance or an At Home.  And how ardently he pleaded, one afternoon, sitting face to face with mother and daughter.  Inwardly agitated, but with outward calm, he impressed upon them many reasons for their being of the party.  The charm of the Temple, the river, and glitter of light, the novel experience of bachelors’ quarters....  They promised to come.

CHAPTER V

Mike leaned forward to tie his white cravat.  He was slight, and white and black, and he thought of Lily, of the exquisite pleasure of seeing her and leading her away.  And he was pleased and surprised to find that his thoughts of her were pure.

The principal contributors to the Pilgrim had been invited, and a selection had been made from the fast and fashionable gang—­those who could be trusted neither to become drunk or disorderly.  It had been decided, but not without misgivings, to ask Muchross and Snowdown.

The doors were open, servants could be seen passing with glasses and bottles.  Frank, who had finished dressing, called from the drawing-room and begged Mike to hasten; for the housemaid was waiting to arrange his room, for it had been decided that this room should serve as a lounge where dancers might sit between the waltzes.

“She can come in now,” he shouted.  He folded the curtains of his strange bed; he lighted a silver lamp, re-arranged his palms, and smiled, thinking of the astonished questions when he invited young ladies to be seated among the numerous cushions.  And Mike determined he would say that he considered his bed-room far too sacred to admit of any of the base wants of life being performed there.