and by this means Mr. Saltram had enjoyed advantages which Theobald Pallinson told himself could not have been his, had he, Theobald, been at hand to engage his cousin’s attention by those superior qualities of mind and person which must needs have utterly outshone the other.  All that Mr. Pallinson wanted was opportunity; and that being now afforded him, he looked upon the happy issue of events as a certainty, and already contemplated the house in Cavendish-square, the Indian jars and cabinets, the ivory chessmen and filigree-silver rosewater-bottles, the inlaid desks and Japanese screens, the ponderous plate and rare old wines, with a sense of prospective proprietorship.

It seemed as if John Saltram had favoured this gentleman’s views by his prolonged absence from the scene, holding himself completely aloof from Adela Branston at a time when, had he been inclined to press his suit, he might have followed her up closely.  Mrs. Branston had been not a little wounded by this apparent neglect on the part of one whom she loved better than anything else in the world; but she was inclined to believe any thing rather than that John Saltram did not care for her; and she had contrived to console herself with the idea that his avoidance of her had been prompted by a delicate consideration for her reputation, and a respect for the early period of her mourning.  To-night, in his society, she had an air of happiness which became her wonderfully; and Gilbert Fenton fancied that a man must needs be hard and cold whose heart could not be won by so bright and gracious a creature.

She spoke more than once, in a half-playful way, of Mr. Saltram’s absence from London; but the deeper feeling underneath the lightness of her manner was very evident to Gilbert.

“I suppose you will be running away from town again directly,” she said, “without giving any one the faintest notice of your intention.  I can’t think what charm it is that you find in country life.  I have so often heard you profess your indifference to shooting, and the ordinary routine of rustic existence.  Perhaps the secret is, that you fear your reputation as a man of fashion would suffer were you to be seen in London at such a barbarous season as this.”

“I have never rejoiced in a reputation for fashion,” Mr. Saltram answered, with his quiet smile—­a smile that gave a wonderful brightness to his face; “and I think I like London in the autumn better than at any other time.  One has room to move about.  I have been in the country of late because I really do appreciate rural surroundings, and have found myself able to write better in the perfect quiet of rural life.”

“It is rather hard upon your friends that you should devote all your days to literature.”

“And still harder upon the reading public, perhaps.  But, my dear Mrs. Branston, remember, I must write to live.”

Adela gave a little impatient sigh.  She was thinking how gladly she would have made this man master of her ample fortune; wondering whether he would ever claim from her the allegiance she was so ready to give.