Yet, curiously enough, each preserved for the other a shy sort of admiration which, until last autumn, had made their somewhat infrequent encounters exceedingly interesting.

Autumn had altered their attitudes; Bunny became serious in proportion to the distance she put between them--which is of course the usual incentive to masculine importunity.

They had had one or two little scenes at Roya-Neh; the girl even hesitated, unquietly curious, perplexed at her own attitude, yet diffidently interested in the man.
A straw was all that her balance required to incline it; Dysart dropped it, casually.

And there were no more pretty scenes between Bunny Gray and his lady-love that autumn, only sulks from the youth, and, after many attempts to secure a hearing, a very direct and honest letter that winter, which had resulted in his dismissal.
* * * * * She came down to the drawing-room, looking the spectre of herself, but her stillness and self-possession kept Bunny at his distance, staring, restless, amazed--all of which very evident symptoms and emotions she ignored.
"I have your message," she said.

"Has anything happened to my brother ?" He began: "You mustn't be alarmed, but he is not very well----" "I am alarmed.