y as possible within the
circle on the borders of which she now found herself. Mrs. Grainger with
her charities, Mrs. Littleton Pryor with her good works, Miss Godfrey
with her virtue--all swallowed it as gracefully as possible. Noblesse
oblige. Honora had read French and English memoirs, and knew that
history repeats itself. And a biography that is printed in black letter
and illuminated in gold is attractive in spite of its contents. The
contents, indeed, our heroine had not found uninteresting, and she
turned now to the subject with a flutter of anticipation.

He looked at her intently, almost boldly, she thought, and before she
dropped her eyes she had made a discovery. The thing stamped upon his
face and burning in his eyes was not world-weariness, disappointment,
despair. She could not tell what it was, yet; that it was none of these,
she knew. It was not unrelated to experience, but transcended it. There
was an element of purpose in it, of determination, almost--she would
have believed--of hope. That Mrs. Maitland nor any other woman was
a part of it she became equally sure. Nothing could have been more
commonplace than the conversation which began, and yet it held for her,
between the lines as in the biography, the thrill of interest. She was a
woman, and embarked on a voyage of discovery.

"Do you live in New York?" he asked.

"Yes," said Honora, "since this autumn."

"I've been away a good many years," he said, in explanation of his
question. "I haven't quite got my bearings. I can't tell you how queerly
this sort of thing affects me."

"You mean civilization?" she hazarded.

"Yes. And yet I've come back to it."

Of course she did not ask him why. Their talk was like the starting of
a heavy train--a series of jerks; and yet both were aware of an
irresistible forward traction. She had not recovered from her surprise
in finding herself already so far in his confidence.

"And the time will come, I suppose, when you'll long to get away again."

"No," he said, "I've come back to stay. It's taken me a long while
to learn it, but there's only one place for a man, and that's his own
country."

Her eyes lighted.

"There's always so much for a man to do."

"What would you do?" he asked curiously.

She considered this.

"If you had asked me that question two years ago--even a year ago--I
should have given you a different answer. It's taken me some time to
learn it, too, you see, and I'm not a man. I onc