love for a dirty jest--and overlooked or forgave them. At first
embarrassed by the mushroom growth of a friendship he had not invited,
he soon grew genuinely attached to Krafft, and missed him when he was
absent from him.

Avery Hill could hardly be termed third in the alliance; Maurice's
advent had thrust her into the background, where she kept watch over
their doings with her cold, disdainful eye. Maurice was not clear how
she regarded his intrusion. Sometimes, particularly when she saw the
improvement in Heinrich's way of life, she seemed to tolerate his
presence gladly; at others again, her jealous aversion to him was too
open to be overlooked. The jealousy was natural; he was an interloper,
and Heinz neglected her shamefully for him; but there was something
else behind it, another feeling, which Maurice could not make out. He
by no means understood the relationship that existed between
his friend and this girl of the stone-grey eyes and stern, red lips.
The two lived almost door by door, went in and out of each other's
rooms at all hours, and yet, he had never heard them exchange an
affectionate word, or seen a mark of endearment pass between them.
Avery's attachment--if such it could be called--was noticeable only in
the many small ways in which she cared for Krafft's comfort; her
manner with him was invariably severe and distant, with the exception
of those occasions when a seeming trifle raised in her a burst of the
dull, passionate anger, beneath which Krafft shrank. Maurice believed
that his friend would be happier away from her; in spite of her fresh
colouring, he, Maurice, found her wanting in attraction, nothing that
a woman ought to be. But her name was rarely mentioned between them;
Krafft was, as a rule, reticent concerning her, and when he did speak
of her, it was in a tone of such contempt that Maurice was glad to
shirk the subject.