l
tell you gladly anything your kindness may seek to know. But just
now it is my duty to keep silent. One cannot fight the wild beasts,
and describe them fairly, at the same hour. Either they seem more
formidable than they are, or they are even more terrible than they
seem. But the order has gone forth--"Face them."

Your affectionate and grateful,

ROBERT de H. ORANGE.

Robert himself, after he had written this final letter, decided to reply
in person to a note which he had received that morning from Lady Sara.
He walked to St. James's Square wondering, without much interest,
whether Fate would have her absent or at home. As a matter of fact, she
had felt a presentiment of his call, and he found her, beautifully
dressed in violet tints, copying some Mass music in the drawing-room.

"I hoped you would come," she said, when the servant had closed the
door. "Nothing else could have shown me that you didn't mind my writing.
I had to write. I wrote badly, but indeed I understood. It takes an
eternity to sound the infinite. We won't talk of you: we can talk about
other people. Ask me what I have been doing."

All this time she held his hand, but in such sisterly, kind fashion,
that he felt more at ease with her than it was ever possible to be with
Pensee, who was timid, and therefore disturbing.

"Have you accepted Marshire?" he asked at once.

"No," she said, blushing; "I do not love him sufficiently to marry him."

"How is this?"

"You know that I always fly from important mediocrities. You think that
sounds heartless. He has been so kind to me. But I love as I must--not
as I ought. My dear friend, all the trouble in life is due to forced
affection. Look at Beauclerk! Think of Agnes Carillon! What fiery
fierceness of sorrow in both their hearts! Papa and I were at Lady
Churleigh's last Sunday. Agnes was there, looking, believe me, lovely.
No portrait does her justice. One finds marvellous beauty, now and
again, in the middle classes. She is an exquisite _bourgeoise_. She is
not clever enough to feel bored; she is too well brought up to be
fascinating; too handsome to insist on homage. Plain women are exacting
and capricious--they make themselves _worth while_. _Il faut se faire
valoir!_ That is why a man will often adore an ugly woman for ever,
whereas an Agnes--an Agnes----"

She paused, gave him a glance, and laughed.

"Does Bea