been perfectly well able to recite "On Linden when the sun was

low," but one felt certain that nothing ever induced her to do so.
The elder aunt, Mrs. Goldbrook, did not share her sister's

character as a human rest-cure; most people found her rather
disturbing, chiefly, perhaps, from her habit of asking unimportant

questions with enormoussolemnity. Her manner of enquiring after a
trifling ailment gave one the impression that she was more

concerned with the fortunes of the malady than with oneself, and
when one got rid of a cold one felt that she almost expected to be

given its postal address. Probably her manner was merely the
defensive outwork of an innate shyness, but she was not a woman who

commanded confidences.
"A telephone call for Courtenay," commented the younger of the two

women as Youghal hurriedly flashed through the room; "the telephone
system seems to enter very largely into that young man's life."

"The telephone has robbed matrimony of most of its sting," said the
elder; "so much more discreet than pen and ink communications which

get read by the wrong people."
Elaine's aunts were conscientiously worldly; they were the natural

outcome of a stock that had been conscientiously straight-laced for
many generations.

Elaine had progressed to the pancake stage before Courtenay
returned.

"Sorry to be away so long," he said, "but I've arranged something
rather nice for to-night. There's rather a jolly masquerade ball

on. I've 'phoned about getting a costume for you and it's alright.
It will suit you beautifully, and I've got my harlequin dress with

me. Madame Kelnicort, excellent soul, is going to chaperone you,
and she'll take you back any time you like; I'm quite unreliable

when I get into fancy dress. I shall probably keep going till some
unearthly hour of the morning."

A masquerade ball in a strange city hardly represented Elaine's
idea of enjoyment. Carefully to disguise one's identity in a

neighbourhood where one was entirely unknown seemed to her rather
meaningless. With Courtenay, of course, it was different; he

seemed to have friends and acquaintances everywhere. However, the
matter had progressed to a point which would have made a refusal to

go seem rather ungracious. Elaine finished her pancake and began
to take a polite interest in her costume.

"What is your character?" asked Madame Kelnicort that evening, as
they uncloaked, preparatory to entering the already crowded ball-

room.
"I believe I'm supposed to represent Marjolaine de Montfort,

whoever she may have been," said Elaine. "Courtenay declares he
only wanted to marry me because I'm his ideal of her."

"But what a mistake to go as a character you know nothing about.
To enjoy a masquerade ball you ought to throw away your own self

and be the character you represent. Now Courtenay has been
Harlequin since half-way through dinner; I could see it dancing in

his eyes. At about six o'clock to-morrow morning he will fall
asleep and wake up a member of the British House of Parliament on

his honeymoon, but to-night he is unrestrainedly Harlequin."
Elaine stood in the ball-room surrounded by a laughing jostling

throng of pierrots, jockeys, Dresden-china shepherdesses, Roumanian
peasant-girls and all the lively make-believe creatures that form

the ingredients of a fancy-dress ball. As she stood watching them
she experienced a growing feeling of annoyance, chiefly with

herself. She was assisting, as the French say, at one of the
gayest scenes of Europe's gayest capital, and she was conscious of

being absolutely unaffected by the gaiety around her. The costumes
were certainly interesting to look at, and the music good to listen

to, and to that extent she was amused, but the ABANDON of the scene
made no appeal to her. It was like watching a game of which you

did not know the rules, and in the issue of which you were not
interested. Elaine began to wonder what was the earliest moment at

which she could drag Madame Kelnicort away from the revel without
being guilty of sheer cruelty. Then Courtenay wriggled out of the

crush and came towards her, a joyous laughing Courtenay, looking
younger and handsomer than she had ever seen him. She could

scarcely recognise in him to-night the rising young debater who
made embarrassing onslaughts on the Government's foreign policy

before a crowded House of Commons. He claimed her for the dance
that was just starting, and steered her dexterously into the heart

of the waltzing crowd.
"You look more like Marjolaine than I should have thought a mortal

woman of these days could look," he declared, "only Marjolaine did
smile sometimes. You have rather the air of wondering if you'd

left out enough tea for the servants' breakfast. Don't mind my
teasing; I love you to look like that, and besides, it makes a

splendid foil to my Harlequin - my selfishness" target="_blank" title="n.自私；不顾别人">selfishness coming to the fore
again, you see. But you really are to go home the moment you're

bored; the excellent Kelnicort gets heaps of dances throughout the
winter, so don't mind sacrificing her."

A little later in the evening Elaine found herself standing out a
dance with a grave young gentleman from the Russian Embassy.

"Monsieur Courtenay enjoys himself, doesn't he?" he observed, as
the youthful-looking harlequin flashed past them, looking like some

restless gorgeous-hued dragonfly; "why is it that the good God has
given your countrymen the boon of eternal youth? Some of your

countrywomen, too, but all of the men."
Elaine could think of many of her countrymen who were not and never

could have been youthful, but as far as Courtenay was concerned she
recognised the fitness of the remark. And the recognition carried

with it a sense of depression. Would he always remain youthful and
keen on gaiety and revelling while she grew staid and retiring?

She had thrust the lively intractable Comus out of her mind, as by
his perverseness he had thrust himself out of her heart, and she

had chosen the brilliant young man of affairs as her husband. He
had honestly let her see the selfish side of his character while he

was courting her, but she had been prepared to make due sacrifices
to the selfishness" target="_blank" title="n.自私；不顾别人">selfishness of a public man who had his career to consider

above all other things. Would she also have to make sacrifices to
the harlequin spirit which was now revealing itself as an

undercurrent in his nature? When one has inured oneself to the
idea of a particular form of victimisation it is disconcerting to

be confronted with another. Many a man who would patiently undergo
martyrdom for religion's sake would be furiouslyunwilling to be a

martyr to neuralgia.
"I think that is why you English love animals so much," pursued the

young diplomat; "you are such splendid animals yourselves. You are
lively because you want to be lively, not because people are

looking on at you. Monsieur Courtenay is certainly an animal. I
mean it as a high compliment."

"Am I an animal?" asked Elaine.
"I was going to say you are an angel," said the Russian, in some

embarrassment, "but I do not think that would do; angels and
animals would never get on together. To get on with animals you

must have a sense of humour, and I don't suppose angels have any
sense of humour; you see it would be no use to them as they never

hear any jokes."
"Perhaps," said Elaine, with a tinge of bitterness in her voice,

"perhaps I am a vegetable."
"I think you most remind me of a picture," said the Russian.

It was not the first time Elaine had heard the simile.
"I know," she said, "the Narrow Gallery at the Louvre; attributed

to Leonardo da Vinci."
Evidently the impression she made on people was solely one of

externals.
Was that how Courtenay regarded her? Was that to be her function

and place in life, a painted background, a decorativesetting to
other people's triumphs and tragedies? Somehow to-night she had

the feeling that a general might have who brought imposing forces
into the field and could do nothing with them. She possessed youth

and good looks, considerablewealth, and had just made what would
be thought by most people a very satisfactory marriage. And