ideration, for others that prevents one from showing
one's feelings?

He went on to tell her of Ferrand's starving four days sooner than face a
pawnbroker; and, reading the letter over before addressing it, the faces
of the three ladies round their snowy cloth arose before him--Antonia's
face, so fair and calm and wind-fresh; her mother's face, a little
creased by time and weather; the maiden aunt's somewhat too thin-and they
seemed to lean at him, alert and decorous, and the words "That's rather
nice!" rang in his ears. He went out to post the letter, and buying a
five-shilling order enclosed it to the little barber, Carolan, as a
reward for delivering his note to Ferrand. He omitted to send his
address with this donation, but whether from delicacy or from caution he
could not have said. Beyond doubt, however, on receiving through Ferrand
the following reply, he felt ashamed and pleased.

3, BLANK Row, WESTMINSTER.

From every well-born soul humanity is owing. A thousand thanks. I
received this morning your postal order; your heart henceforth for me
will be placed beyond all praise.

J. CAROLAN.

CHAPTER XI

THE VISION

A few days later he received a letter from Antonia which filled him with
excitement:

. . . Aunt Charlotte is ever so much better, so mother thinks we can
go home-hurrah! But she says that you and I must keep to our arrangement
not to see each other till July. There will be something fine in being
so near and having the strength to keep apart . . . All the English are
gone. I feel it so empty out here; these people are so funny-all foreign
and shallow. Oh, Dick! how splendid to have an ideal to look up to!
Write at once to Brewer's Hotel and tell me you think the same . . . .
We arrive at Charing Cross on Sunday at half-past seven, stay at Brewer's
for a couple of nights, and go down on Tuesday to Holm Oaks.

Always your
ANTONIA.

"To-morrow!" he thought; "she's coming tomorrow!" and, leaving his
neglected breakfast, he started out to walk off his emotion. His square
ran into one of those slums that still rub shoulders with the most
distinguished situations, and in it he came upon a little crowd assembled
round a dogfight. One of the dogs was being mauled, but the day was
muddy, and Shelton, like any well-bred Englishman, had a horror of making
himself conspicuous even in a decent cause; he looked for a policeman.
One was