"The precipitations are his."

"Ah, well, at least you help him to fuse the constituents! . . . But
now, be quite confidential to an old man who has experimented too. Is
your husband really an amateur scientist, or is he a scientific amateur?
Is it a pose or a taste? I fiddled once--and wrote sonnets; one was a
pose, the other a taste."

It was mere persiflage, but it was a jest which made an unintended wound.
Hylda became conscious of a sudden sharp inquiry going on in her mind.
There flashed into it the question, Does Eglington's heart ever really
throb for love of any object or any cause? Even in moments of greatest
intimacy, soon after marriage, when he was most demonstrative towards
her, he had seemed preoccupied, except when speaking about himself and
what he meant to do. Then he made her heart throb in response to his
confident, ardent words--concerning himself. But his own heart, did it
throb? Or was it only his brain that throbbed?

Suddenly, with an exclamation, she involuntarily laid a hand upon
Windlehurst's arm. She was looking down the room straight before her to
a group of people towards which other groups were now converging,
attracted by one who seemed to be a centre of interest.

Presently the eager onlookers drew aside, and Lord Windlehurst observed
moving up the room a figure he had never seen before. The new-comer was
dressed in a grey and blue official dress, unrelieved save by silver
braid at the collar and at the wrists. There was no decoration, but on
the head was a red fez, which gave prominence to the white, broad
forehead, with the dark hair waving away behind the ears. Lord