"You would have to be very particular in your choice of a companion to share such a solitude with you, otherwise the demon of Ennui would soon make a third in your company."
"Ennui can never intrude itself between two people whose tastes and sympathies thoroughly agree. Four times out of six ennui means neither more nor less than vacuity of brain."
Eleanor laughed. "Next time I am troubled with it I shall know how to call it by its proper name.--I declare if there isn't dear Lady Dudgeon looking out for us with a shawl over her head!"
Her ladyship received them very graciously; but then Mr. Pomeroy was a special favourite with her. "I am glad you have had the good sense to get back early," she said. "The river-damps are said to be very dangerous after sunset."
Not the slightest suspicion of any possible danger to her protégée ever entered her mind. Had anyone even hinted at such a thing, she would have replied indignantly that Miss Lloyd, who had refused the addresses of Captain Dayrell, was not at all likely to fall in love with Sir Thomas Dudgeon's secretary. She judged Eleanor, in fact, by what she herself had been at the same age. She had been brought up to believe that for any young lady to throw herself away simply for love was next door to a crime. As it was totally out of the question that she herself could have ever fallen in love with any man who was without wealth or position, or both, so would it have been utterly inconceivable to her that her darling Miss Lloyd could ever sink to a level which would render possible any such act of social degradation.
[CHAPTER III.]
A QUIET CUP OF TEA.
Tickets for the opera reached Miriam Byrne, in due course, on the morning of the Friday following Gerald Warburton's first visit to the house of Max Van Duren in Spur Alley. Saturday was Miriam's birthday. Beyond an extra kiss from Mr. Byrne, and the expression of good wishes usual on such an occasion, the day brought little or no difference to either father or daughter. The weather was unpleasant, and neither of them stirred out of doors. But when tea time came, the best china was brought out of its retirement, and from some mysterious cupboard was produced a Madeira cake, with a little jar of honey, and some potted shrimps.
"Now, papa, dear, draw up to the table," cried Miriam, gaily, as soon as everything had been arranged in order due.
"I've put an extra spoonful of green into the pot in order to please you, and if you behave yourself nicely, you shall have an extra lump of sugar in your cup, for you are as fond of sweet things as any schoolgirl."