The young mothers and the others come up, and an enormous amount of baby-worship is gone through, during which I slip away, and going to my room look out at the night and promise myself a stroll by the sea on Monday. I wonder why people always eschew the sea on Sundays? On the same principle as they make themselves uncomfortable in every imaginable way, I suppose.
We all go downstairs, and as I cross the drawing-room I see Silvia sitting by the window. She has not spoken to me yet, but then she has had no chance; I will go and speak to her.
"Have you forgotten me?" I say, putting out my hand. I stayed with your aunt once at Flytton, you know; I am Helen Adair."
She looks at me for a moment, considering; then she lays her hand in mine. "You are Helen Adair?" she says, with a kind of amazement. "I thought I had seen you somewhere before, but I did not know it was at Charteris."
And as we stand hand in hand, the door opens and Paul Vasher comes in, first of the advancing party of men, and looks at us with a quick and keen scrutiny. In another minute Sir George Vestris is beside her, and I am sitting on a velvet chair, professedly looking at Milly's album; in reality wasting a little malicious pity on the Misses Lister, who, having laid themselves out in shady corners, with room beside them for one, are baulked by Silvia, whose lovely face detains the Captains on their enforced pilgrimage to those charmers. Has she not Sir George Vestris, and is it not mean of her to prevent those flies from walking into the parlours the spiders have so carefully prepared! Mr. Vasher comes and sits down beside me, taking half of the heavy book on his knee.
"Do not make fun of them," I say, laughing, "for nearly everybody here is a relation."
"Do relations love one another?" he asks. "If I wanted a real
