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Was it possible that in the space of a week–? No, it was impossible. And yet, with a girl like that—-.

“I did the right thing in waiting to go with her, anyhow,” said Charlie, comforting himself.

CHAPTER V

A SECOND EDITION

“Don’t you think it’s an interesting sort of title?” inquired Lady Deane of Mr. Laing.

Laing was always a little uneasy in her presence. He felt not only that she was analyzing him, but that the results of the analysis seemed to her to be a very small residuum, of solid matter. Besides, he had been told that she had described him as a “commonplace young man,” a thing nobody could be expected to like.

“Capital!” he answered, nervously fingering his eye glass. “The Transformation of Giles Brockleton! Capital!”

“I think it will do,” said Lady Deane complacently.

“Er–what was he transformed into, Lady Deane?”

“A man,” replied the lady emphatically.

“Of course. I see,” murmured Laing apologetically, stifling a desire to ask what Giles had been before.

A moment later the author enlightened him.

“Yes,” said she, “into a man, from a useless, mischievous, contemptible idler, a parasite, Mr. Laing, a creature to whom—-“

“What did it, Lady Deane?” interrupted Laing hastily. He felt somehow as if he were being catalogued.

“Just a woman’s influence.”

Laing’s face displayed relief; he felt that he was in his depth again.

“Oh, got married, you mean? Well, of course, he’d have to pull up a bit, wouldn’t he? Hang it, I think it’s a fellow’s duty.

“You don’t quite understand me,” observed Lady Deane coldly. “He did not marry the woman.”

“What, did she give him the–I mean, wouldn’t she have him, Lady Deane?”

“She would have married him; but beside her he saw himself in his true colors. Knowing what he was, how could he dare? That was his punishment, and punishment brought transformation.”

As Lady Deane sketched her idea, her eyes kindled and her tone became animated. Laing admired both her and her idea, and he expressed his feeling’s by saying:

“Remarkable sort of chap, Lady Deane. I shall read it all right, you know.”

“I think you ought,” said she, rising, and leaving him to wonder whether she had “meant anything.”

He gave himself a little shake, as though to escape from the atmosphere of seriousness which she had diffused about him, and looked round. A little way off he saw Dora Bellairs and Charlie Ellerton sitting side by side. His brow clouded. Before Charlie came it had been his privilege to be Miss Bellairs’s cavalier, and although he never hoped, nor, to tell the truth, desired more than a temporary favor in her eyes, he did not quite like being ousted.

“Pretty good for a fellow who’s just had the bag!” he remarked scornfully, referring to Roger Deane’s unauthorized revelation.

It was the day before the exodus to Paris. Dora’s period of weary waiting had worn itself away, and she was acknowledging to Charlie that the last two or three days had passed quicker than she had ever thought they could.

“The first two days I was wretched, the next two gloomy, but these last almost peaceful. In spite of–you know what–I think you’ve done me good on the whole.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Charlie, flinging his arm over the back of the seat and looking at his companion.

“And now–in the end,” pursued Dora, “I’m actually a little sorry to leave all this; it’s so beautiful,” and she waved her parasol vaguely at the hills and the islands, while with the other hand she took off her hat and allowed the breeze to blow through her hair.

“It is jolly, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I should rather think it was,” said Charlie. “The jolliest I’ve ever seen.” It was evident that he did not refer to the scenery.

“Oh, you promised you wouldn’t,” cried Dora reproachfully.

“Well, then, I’ll promise again,” he replied, smiling amiably.

“What must I think of you, when only a week or so ago—-? Oh, and what must you think of me to suppose I could? Oh, Mr. Ellerton!”