be more than kind—to me, as well as to her. You see, she is all alone in the world, and"
"Isn't she—I thought at one time she was engaged to Mr. Barr," ventured Maud, unable to restrain her curiosity.
Sir Ian's face stiffened. "I am not in her confidence," he said. "In any case, that can't help her much now."
Terry was furious to find herself blushing. A strange, new thought sprang into her mind. Could it be possible that Sir Ian cared for Nora Verney more than he wished any one to know?
The instant after this thought had bored its sharp gimlet-point into her brain, it began to seem not so strange. After all, what more natural? Such things came to pass every day. Miss Verney was young, and beautiful. She had lived in the same house with Sir Ian for months. He had begun by being sorry for her and admiring her, of course. No normal man could help admiring such a pretty girl. The other day, he had said in answer to a question, "Yes, she is very important, anyhow in this house;" or something like that. Nothing that Terry had known of him in the past prevented her from thinking him fickle—nothing, at least, except a curious, irrepressible instinct which existed in spite of reason, and with nothing to feed upon.
A horrid, unworthy jealousy of the lovely young
