. The beating of her heart was making her sick, and Dick
was coming nearer, guided by the sound of her breathing. She put out a
hand mechanically to ward him off or to draw him to herself, she did not
know which. It touched his chest, and he stepped back as though he had
been shot.

'It's Maisie!' said he, with a dry sob. 'What are you doing here?'

'I came--I came--to see you, please.'

Dick's lips closed firmly.

'Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've had some bother with my eyes,
and----'

'I know. I know. Why didn't you tell me?'

'I couldn't write.'

'You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.'

'What has he to do with my affairs?'

'He--he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see you.'

'Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can't. I
forgot.'

'Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, and---- Let me take you
back to your chair.'

'Don't! I'm not a child. You only do that out of pity. I never meant to
tell you anything about it. I'm no good now. I'm down and done for. Let
me alone!'

He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down.

Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed
by a very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from
the girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he
was, indeed, down and done for--masterful no longer but rather a little
abject; neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up
to--only some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of
crying. She was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him--more sorry than
she had ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny
his words.

So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had
honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she
was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love.

'Well?' said Dick, his face steadily turned away. 'I never meant to
worry you any more. What's the matter?'

He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as
unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had
dropped into a chair and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands.

'I can't--I can't!' she cried desperately. 'Indeed, I can't. It isn't my
fault.

I'm so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I'm so sorry.'

Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip.

Still the sobbing conti