different
from sitting with her yonder in the little room, with the lamp burning
on the table, and the quietness of night around. The calm pleasure of
passionless intercourse was realised and sufficing. Ida, too, seemed
content to enjoy the moment; there was not that wistfulness in her eyes
which had been so new to him and so strong in its influence. It was
easy to find indifferent subjects of conversation, and to avoid the
seriousness which would have been fatal.

When they had found a pleasant spot to rest awhile before turning back,
Waymark made up his mind to fulfil his promise to Julian.

"It's rather strange," he said, "that you should have been asking me
questions about Mrs. Casti. Since then I've discovered that you
probably know her, or once did."

Ida looked surprised.

"Do you remember once having a schoolfellow called Harriet Smales?"

"Is that _her_ name?"

"It was, before her marriage."

Ida became grave, and thought for some moments before speaking again.

"Yes, I remember her," she said, "and not pleasantly."

"You wouldn't care to renew her acquaintance then?" said Waymark, half
glad, in spite of himself, that she spoke in this way.

Ida asked, with earnestness, how he had made this discovery. Waymark
hesitated, but at length told the truth. He explained that Mrs. Casti
suffered from the want of companionship, and that he had mentioned
Ida's name to Julian; whence the discovery.

"Has _she_ been told about me?" asked Ida.

"Nothing was to be said till I had spoken to you."

Waymark paused, but presently continued in a more serious tone. In
recurring to that conversation with Julian, his friend's trouble spoke
strongly to him once more, and overcame selfish thoughts.

"I said that I had come to know you by chance, and that--strange as it
might sound--we were simply friends." He glanced for an instant at Ida;
her eyes were turned to the ground. "You will believe me," he went on
quickly, "when I tell you that I really said nothing more?"

"I never doubt a word of yours," was Ida's quiet reply.

"Casti was overjoyed at the thought of finding such a friend for his
wife. Of course I told him that he must not certainly count either on
your consent or on his wife's. Hers I thought to be perhaps more
doubtful than yours."

"Could I really be of any use to her," asked Ida, after a silence,
"with so little free time as I have?"

"Supposing she would welcome you, I really believe you could be