 asked for father first.«
    »Oh yes! Then don't wait.«
    Marian, scarcely less agitated than her mother, was just leaving the room,
when she turned back again.
    »If father comes in, you will tell him before he goes into the study?«
    »Yes, I will.«
    The fire in the study was on the point of extinction; this was the first
thing Marian's eye perceived on entering, and it gave her assurance that her
father would not be back for some hours. Evidently he had intended it to go out;
small economies of this kind, unintelligible to people who have always lived at
ease, had been the life-long rule with him. With a sensation of gladness at
having free time before her, Marian turned to where Milvain was standing, in
front of one of the bookcases. He wore no symbol of mourning, but his
countenance was far graver than usual, and rather paler. They shook hands in
silence.
    »I am so grieved -« Marian began with broken voice.
    »Thank you. I know the girls have told you all about it. We knew for the
last month that it must come before long, though there was a deceptive
improvement just before the end.«
    »Please to sit down, Mr Milvain. Father went out not long ago, and I don't
think he will be back very soon.«
    »It was not really Mr Yule I wished to see,« said Jasper, frankly. »If he
had been at home I should have spoken with him about what I have in mind, but if
you will kindly give me a few minutes it will be much better.«
    Marian glanced at the expiring fire. Her curiosity as to what Milvain had to
say was mingled with an anxious doubt whether it was not too late to put on
fresh coals; already the room was growing very chill, and this appearance of
inhospitality troubled her.
    »Do you wish to save it?« Jasper asked, understanding her look and movement.
    »I'm afraid it has got too low.«
    »I think not. Life in lodgings has made me skilful at this kind of thing;
let me try my hand.«
    He took the tongs and carefully disposed small pieces of coal upon the glow
that remained. Marian stood apart with a feeling of shame and annoyance. But it
is so seldom that situations in life arrange themselves with dramatic propriety;
and, after all, this vulgar necessity made the beginning of the conversation
easier.
    »That will be all
