about nothing. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Adele's waiting."

He came back, kissed her hurriedly, turned and opened the door. She
followed him into the hallway, knowing that she had failed, knowing that
she never could have succeeded. There she halted and watched him go down
the stairs, and stand with her hands tightly pressed together: voices
reached her, a hurrah from George Pembroke, and the pounding of hoofs on
the driveway. It had seemed such a little thing to ask!

But she did not dwell upon this, now, when fear was gnawing her: how she
had humbled her pride for days and weeks and months for him, and how
he had refused her paltry request lest he should be laughed at. Her
reflections then were not on his waning love. She was filled with the
terror of losing him--of losing all that remained to her in the world.
Presently she began to walk slowly towards the stairs, descended
them, and looked around her. The hall, at least, had not changed. She
listened, and a bee hummed in through the open doorway. A sudden
longing for companionship possessed her-no matter whose; and she walked
hurriedly, as though she were followed, through the empty rooms
until she came upon George Pembroke stretched at full length on the
leather-covered lounge in the library. He opened his eyes, and got up
with alacrity.

"Please don't move," she said.

He looked at her. Although his was not what may be called a sympathetic
temperament, he was not without a certain knowledge of women;
superficial, perhaps. But most men of his type have seen them in
despair; and since he was not related to this particular despair, what
finer feelings he had were the more easily aroused. It must have been
clear to her then that she had lost the power to dissemble, all the
clearer because of Mr. Pembroke's cheerfulness.

"I wasn't going to sleep," he assured her. "Circumstantial evidence is
against me, I know. Where's Abby? reading French literature?"

"I haven't seen her," replied Honora.

"She usually goes to bed with a play at this hour. It's a horrid
habit--going to bed, I mean. Don't you think? Would you mind showing me
about a little?"

"Do you really wish to?" asked Honora, incredulously.

"I haven't been here since my senior year," said Mr. Pembroke. "If the
old General were alive, he could probably tell you something of that
visit--he wrote to my father about it. I always liked the place,
although the General was something of a drawback. Fine