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'A good dinner is a very good thing,' said John. And then there was again silence. He was aware that some great secret was to be told to him this evening, but he was much too discreet to show any curiosity upon that subject. He sipped his tea to the end, and then, having got up to put his cup down, stood on the rug with his back to the fire. 'Have you been out today?' he asked.

'Indeed I have.'

'And you are tired.'

'Very tired.'

'Then perhaps I had better not keep you up.'

'Your remaining will make no difference in that respect. I don't suppose that I shall be in bed for the next four hours. But do as you like about going.'

'I am in no hurry,' said Johnny. Then he sat down again, stretched out his legs and made himself comfortable.

'I have been to see that woman,' said Madalina after a pause.

'What woman?'

'Maria Clutterbuck--as I must always call her; for I cannot bring myself to pronounce the name of that poor wretch who was done to death.'

'He blew his brains out in delirium tremens,' said Johnny.

'And what made him drink?' said Madalina with emphasis. 'Never mind. Idecline altogether to speak of it. Such a scene as I have had! I was driven at last to tell her what I thought of her. Anything so callous, so heartless, so selfish, so stone-cold, and so childish, I never saw before! That Maria was childish and selfish I always knew;--but Ithought there was some heart--a vestige of heart. I found today that there was none--none. If you please we won't speak of her any more.'

'Certainly not,' said Johnny.

'You need not wonder that I am tired and feverish.'

'That sort of thing is fatiguing, I daresay. I don't know whether we do not lose more than we gain by those strong emotions.'

'I would rather die and go beneath the sod at once, than live without them,' said Madalina.

'It's a matter of taste,' said Johnny.

'It is there that the poor wretch is so deficient. She is thinking now, this moment, of nothing but her creature comforts. That tragedy has not even stirred her pulses.'

'If her pulses were stirred ever so, that would not make her happy.'

'Happy! Who is happy? Are you happy?'

Johnny thought of Lily Dale and paused before he answered. No;certainly he was not happy. But he was not going to talk about his unhappiness with Miss Demolines! 'Of course I am;--as jolly as a sandboy,' he said.

'Mr Eames,' said Madalina raising herself on her sofa, 'if you can not express yourself in language more suitable to the occasion and to the scene than that, I think that you had better--'

'Hold my tongue.'

'Just so;--though I should not have chosen myself to use words so abruptly discourteous.'

'What did I say:--jolly as a sandboy? There is nothing wrong in that.

What I meant was that I think that the world is a very good sort of world, and that a man can get along in it very well if he minds his p's and q's.'

'But suppose it's a woman?'

'Easier still.'

'And suppose she does not mind her p's and q's?'

'Women always do.'

'Do they? Your knowledge of women goes as far as that, does it? Tell me fairly;--do you think you know anything about women?' Madalina as she asked the question, looked full into his face, and shook her locks and smiled. When she shook her locks and smiled, there was a certain attraction about her of which John Eames was fully sensible. She could throw a special brightness into her eyes, which, though it probably betokened nothing beyond ill-natured mischief, seemed to convey a promise of wit and intellect.

'I don't mean to make any boast about it,' said Johnny.

'I doubt whether you know anything. The pretty simplicity of your excellent Lily Dale has sufficed for you.'

'Never mind about her,' said Johnny impatiently.

'I do not mind about her in the least. But an insight into that sort of simplicity will not teach the character of a real woman. You cannot learn the flavour of wines by sipping sherry and water. For myself I do not think that I am simple. I own it fairly. If you must have simplicity, I cannot be to your taste.'

'Nobody likes partridge always,' said Johnny, laughing.

'I understand you, sir. And though what you say is not complimentary, Iam willing to forgive that fault for its truth. I don't consider myself to be always a partridge, I can assure you. I am as changeable as the moon.'

'And as fickle?'

'I say nothing about that, sir. I leave you to find that out. It is a man's business to discover that for himself. If you really do know aught of women--'

'I did not say that I did.'

'But if you do, you will perhaps have discovered that a woman may be as changeable as the moon, and yet as true as the sun;--that she may flit from flower to flower, quite unheeding while no passion exists, but that a passion fixes her at once. Do you believe me?' Now she looked into his eyes again, but did not smile and did not shake her locks.

'Oh, yes;--that's true enough. And when they have a lot of children, then they become steady as milestones.'

'Children!' said Madalina, getting up and walking about the room.

'They do have them, you know,' said Johnny.

'Do you mean to say, sir, that I should be a milestone?'

'A finger-post,' said Johnny, 'to show a fellow the way he ought to go.'

She walked twice across the room without speaking. Then she came and stood opposite him, still without speaking--and then she walked about again. 'What could a woman better be, than a finger-post, as you call it, with such a purpose?'

'Nothing better, of course;--though a milestone to tell a fellow his distances, is very good.'

'Psha!'

'You don't like the idea of being a milestone?'

'No!'

'Then you can make up your mind to be a finger-post.'

'John, shall I be finger-post for you?.' She stood and looked at him for a moment or two, with her eyes full of love, as though she were going to throw herself into his arms. And she would have done so, no doubt, instantly, had he risen to his legs. As it was, after having gazed at him for the moment with her love-laden eyes, she flung herself on the sofa, and hid her face among the cushions.