nce how real it was, and how true. It was
the light of the sun that shone there which made those shadows which
till now he had thought to be in themselves so radiant.

It was about half-past ten when Jeannie and Lord Lindfield cut out of a
bridge-table simultaneously. They had been playing in the billiard-room,
and strolled out together, talking. In the hall outside, that pleasant
place of books and shadows and corners, Jeannie paused and held out her
hand to him.

"Lord Lindfield," she said, "I have been a most utter beast to you these
last two days, and I am sorry--I am indeed. You have got a perfect
right to ask for explanations, and--and there aren't any. That is the
best explanation of all; you can't get behind it. Will you, then, be
generous and shake hands, and let us go on where we left off?"

He took her hand.

"That is exactly the condition I should have made," he said.

"What?"

"That we should go on where we left off. Do you remember what you
were talking about?"

She had sat down in a low chair by the empty fireplace, and he drew
another close up to hers, and at right angles to it. Just above was a
pair of shaded candles, so that he, sitting a little further off, was in
shadow, whereas the soft light fell full on to her. Had she seen his
face more clearly, she might have known that her task was already over,
that Daisy had become but a shadow to him, and that he was eager and
burning to put the coping-stone on to what she had accomplished. But
she remembered the scene in the punt; she remembered that immediately
after she had spoken of friendship, he, like a friend, had confided to
her his intention of settling down and marrying. This time, therefore,
she would speak in a more unmistakable way.

"Yes, yes, I remember indeed," she said; "and it was the last good hour
I have had between that and this. But I am not blaming you, Lord
Lindfield, except, perhaps, just a little bit."

He leant forward, and his voice trembled.

"Why do you blame me," he asked, "even a little bit?"

Jeannie laughed.

"No, I don't think I can tell you," she said. "I should get scarlet.
Yet, I don't know; I think it would make you laugh, too, and it is
always a good thing to laugh. So turn away, and don't look at me when I
am scarlet, since it is unbecoming. Well, I blame you a little bit,
because you were a little bit tactless. A charming woman--one, anyhow,
who was trying to be charming--had just been talking to you a