ople by their appearance.
That, at any rate, is in their favor."

Mr. Bomford nodded approvingly.

"I will admit, Mr. Burton," he continued, leaning a little towards him,
"that one of my objects in asking you to dine this evening, apart from
the pleasure of your company, was to prove to you the truth of one of my
remarks the other evening--that the expenditure of money need not
necessarily be associated with vulgarity. This is a restaurant which
only the rich could afford to patronize save occasionally, yet you see
for yourself that the prominent note here is a subdued and artistic
tastefulness. The days of loud colors and of the flamboyant life are
past. Money to-day is the handmaiden to culture."

Exceedingly pleased with his speech, Mr. Bomford leaned back in his
chair and lighted a half-crown cigar. Presently, without any visible
co-operation on their part, a little scheme was carried into effect by
the professor and Mr. Bomford. The latter rose and crossed to the
other side of the room to speak to some friends. A few moments later he
beckoned to the professor. Edith and Burton were alone. She drew a
deep sigh of relief and turned towards him as though expecting him to
say something. Burton, however, was silent. He had never seen her
quite like this. She wore a plain white satin dress and a string of
pearls about her neck, which he saw for the first time entirely exposed.
The excitement of the evening had brought a delicate flush to her face;
the blue in her eyes was more wonderful here, even, than out in the
sunlight. Amid many toilettes of more complicated design, the exquisite
and entire simplicity of her gown and hair and ornaments was delightful.

"You are quiet this evening," she whispered. "I wish I could know what
you are thinking of all the time."

"There is nothing in my thoughts or in my heart," he answered, "which I
would not tell you if I could. Evenings like this, other evenings which
you and I have spent together in still more beautiful places, have been
like little perfect epochs in an imperfect life. Yet all the time one
is haunted. I am haunted here to-night, even, as I sit by your side. I
move through life a condemned man. I know it for I have proved it.
Before very long the man whom you know, who sits by your side at this
moment, who is your slave, dear, must pass."

"You can never altogether change," she murmured.

His hands clasped the small silver box in his pocket.

"In a few months,