d she any mystical demurrer to make.
The originality which in some ways she richly possessed was not
concerned in the least with the upsetting of class distinctions, and as
a Catholic she had been taught loyally to accept them.

The minutes passed away. Julie sank deeper and deeper into reverie, her
head leaning against the side of the window, her hands clasped before
her on her black dress. Once or twice she found the tears dropping from
her eyes, and once or twice she smiled.

She was not thinking of the tragic circumstances amid which she stood.
From that short trance of feeling even the piteous figures of the dead
father and son faded away. Warkworth entered into it, but already
invested with the passionless and sexless beauty of a world
where--whether it be to us poetry or reality--"they neither marry nor
are given in marriage." Her warm and living thoughts spent themselves on
one theme only--the redressing of a spiritual balance. She was no longer
a beggar to her husband; she had the wherewithal to give. She had been
the mere recipient, burdened with debts beyond her paying; now--

And then it was that her smiles came--tremluous, fugitive, exultant.

* * * * *

A bell rang in the long corridor, and the slight sound recalled her to
life and action. She walked towards the door which separated her from
the sitting-room where she had left her husband, and opened it
without knocking.

Delafield was sitting at a writing-table in the window. He had
apparently been writing; but she found him in a moment of pause, playing
absently with the pen he still held.

As she entered he looked up, and it seemed to her that his aspect and
his mood had changed. Her sudden and indefinable sense of this made it
easier for her to hasten to him, and to hold out her hands to him.

"Jacob, you asked me a question just now, and I begged you to give me
time. But I am here to answer it. If it would be to your happiness to
refuse the dukedom, refuse it. I will not stand in your way, and I will
never reproach you. I suppose"--she made herself smile upon him--"there
are ways of doing such a strange thing. You will be much criticised,
perhaps much blamed. But if it seems to you right, do it. I'll just
stand by you and help you. Whatever makes you happy shall make me happy,
if only--"

Delafield had risen impetuously and held her by both hands. His breast
heaved, and the hurrying of her own breath would now