s jealousy had died for lack of fuel. In relation to Julie,
Delafield had been surely the mere shadow and agent of his little cousin
the Duchess--a friendly, knight-errant sort of person, with a liking for
the distressed. What! the heir-presumptive of Chudleigh Abbey, and one
of the most famous of English dukedoms, when even he, the struggling,
penurious officer, would never have dreamed of such a match?

Julie, meanwhile, heard only jealousy in his exclamation, and it
caressed her ear, her heart. She was tempted once more, woman-like, to
dwell upon the other lover, and again something compelling and delicate
in her feeling towards Delafield forbade.

"No, you mustn't make me tell you any more," she said, putting the name
aside with a proud gesture. "It would be poor and mean. But it's true. I
have only to put out my hand for what you call 'a great position,' I
have refused to put it out. Sometimes, of course, it has dazzled me.
To-night it seems to me--dust and ashes. No; when we two have said
good-bye, I shall begin life again. And this time I shall live it in my
own way, for my own ends. I'm very tired. Henceforth 'I'll walk where my
own nature would be leading--it vexes me to choose another guide.'"

And as she spoke the words of one of the chainless souls of history, in
a voice passionately full and rich, she sprang to her feet, and, drawing
her slender form to its full height, she locked her hands behind her,
and began to pace the room with a wild, free step.

Every nerve in Warkworth's frame was tingling. He was carried out of
himself, first by the rebellion of her look and manner, then by this
fact, so new, so astounding, which her very evasion had confirmed.
During her whole contest with Lady Henry, and now, in her present
ambiguous position, she had Delafield, and through Delafield the English
great world, in the hollow of her hand? This nameless woman--no longer
in her first youth. And she had refused? He watched her in a speechless
wonder and incredulity.

The thought leaped. "And this sublime folly--this madness--was for
_me_?"

It stirred and intoxicated him. Yet she was not thereby raised in his
eyes. Nay, the contrary. With the passion which was rapidly mounting in
his veins there mingled--poor Julie!--a curious diminution of respect.

"Julie!" He held out his hand to her peremptorily. "Come to me again.
You are so wonderful to-night, in that white dress--like a wild muse. I
shall always see you s