all things to the arbitrament of
reason, Julie, whatever her practice, was theoretically a stoic and a
pagan. But Delafield's personality embodied another "must," another
"ought," of a totally different kind. And it was a "must" which, in a
great crisis of her life, she also had been forced to obey. There was
the thought which stung and humiliated. And the fact was irreparable;
nor did she see how she was ever to escape from the strange, silent,
penetrating relation it had established between her and the man who
loved her and had saved her, against her will.

During her convalescence at Crowborough House, Delafield had been often
admitted. It would have been impossible to exclude him, unless she had
confided the whole story of the Paris journey to the Duchess. And
whatever Evelyn might tremblingly guess, from Julie's own mouth she knew
nothing. So Delafield had come and gone, bringing Lord Lackington's last
words, and the account of his funeral, or acting as intermediary in
business matters between Julie and the Chantrey brothers. Julie could
not remember that she had ever asked him for these services. They fell
to him, as it were, by common consent, and she had been too weak
to resist.

At first, whenever he entered the room, whenever he approached her, her
sense of anger and resentment had been almost unbearable. But little by
little his courtesy, tact, and coolness had restored a relation between
them which, if not the old one, had still many of the outward characters
of intimacy. Not a word, not the remotest allusion reminded her of what
had happened. The man who had stood before her transfigured on the deck
of the steamer, stammering out, "I thank God I had the courage to do
it!"--it was often hard for her to believe, as she stole a look at
Delafield, chatting or writing in the Duchess's drawing-room, that such
a scene had ever taken place.

* * * * *

The evening stole on. How was it that whenever she allowed the thought
of Delafield to obtain a real lodgment in the mind, even the memory of
Warkworth was for the time effaced? Silently, irresistibly, a wild heat
of opposition would develop within her. These men round whom, as it
were, there breathes an air of the heights; in whom one feels the secret
guard that religion keeps over thoughts and words and acts--her
passionate yet critical nature flung out against them. How are they
better than others, after all? What right have the