ip
of his destiny, endowed her with all the graces of soul, the grandeur
of character and passion, that he had hitherto shaped from the rich
components in his brain. When he was faced with the naked truth his
mental disquiet was as great as his anguish. If this woman, one of the
most finished works of the most civilised country on the globe, had
revealed herself to be but common clay, where should he find another
worth loving? Surely the woman was not yet evolved who could fasten
herself permanently to his soul and his senses. This may have been a
rash conclusion for a man of his years, but a poet is as old in brain
at six-and-twenty as he is green in soul at sixty. With all the ardour
of his youth and temperament he had longed for his mate, dreamed of a
life of exalted companionship on the most poetic of isles; and one
woman, cleverer than many he had met, had read his dreams, simulated
his ideal, and amused herself until the game ceased to amuse her; and
the richest nabob of the moment returned from India with a brown skull
like a mummy had offered his rupees in exchange for the social state
that only the daughter of a great lord could give him. She had laughed
good naturedly as Warner flung himself at her feet in an agony of
incredulous despair, and told him that no mood had become him so well,
for hitherto he had never expressed himself fully save in verse. And
Anne, neither classic nor modish, still vaguely resembled her! It was
this suggestion of the woman whom at least he must always remember as
the perfection of female beauty, that had tempted him to lurk in the
darkness of the terrace and watch Anne through the windows of Bath
House. In a day when girls cultivated the sylph, minced in their
speech, had numberless affectations, his early choice had possessed a
noble, large figure and a lofty dignity. She was not ashamed to walk,
was to be seen on her horse in the Row every morning, and cultivated
her excellent brain.

But the resemblance, Warner had divined at once, was superficial, and
the first interview had justified his instinct. Anne was a child in
many ways; the other, although younger in years, had been cool,
shrewd, calculating, making no false moves in any game she chose to
play. Warner knew that if he had discovered a gold mine in Nevis and
won her, he should have hated her long since.

But Anne Percy! He could not make the same mistake twice. And had he
met her when he had a decent home and an honou