both of
them have written that her changing her mind was entirely due to your
influence--in fact she said so to her grandmother. She has an
unbounded admiration for you. Poor Ellen--she was always a wayward
child. I wonder what her fate will be?"

"What we've all contrived to make it," he felt like answering. "If
you'd all of you rather she should be Beaufort's mistress than some
decent fellow's wife you've certainly gone the right way about it."

He wondered what Mrs. Welland would have said if he had uttered the
words instead of merely thinking them. He could picture the sudden
decomposure of her firm placid features, to which a lifelong mastery
over trifles had given an air of factitious authority. Traces still
lingered on them of a fresh beauty like her daughter's; and he asked
himself if May's face was doomed to thicken into the same middle-aged
image of invincible innocence.

Ah, no, he did not want May to have that kind of innocence, the
innocence that seals the mind against imagination and the heart against
experience!

"I verily believe," Mrs. Welland continued, "that if the horrible
business had come out in the newspapers it would have been my husband's
death-blow. I don't know any of the details; I only ask not to, as I
told poor Ellen when she tried to talk to me about it. Having an
invalid to care for, I have to keep my mind bright and happy. But Mr.
Welland was terribly upset; he had a slight temperature every morning
while we were waiting to hear what had been decided. It was the horror
of his girl's learning that such things were possible--but of course,
dear Newland, you felt that too. We all knew that you were thinking of
May."

"I'm always thinking of May," the young man rejoined, rising to cut
short the conversation.

He had meant to seize the opportunity of his private talk with Mrs.
Welland to urge her to advance the date of his marriage. But he could
think of no arguments that would move her, and with a sense of relief
he saw Mr. Welland and May driving up to the door.

His only hope was to plead again with May, and on the day before his
departure he walked with her to the ruinous garden of the Spanish
Mission. The background lent itself to allusions to European scenes;
and May, who was looking her loveliest under a wide-brimmed hat that
cast a shadow of mystery over her too-clear eyes, kindled into
eagerness as he spoke of Granada and the Alhambra.

"We might be seeing it