y carriage here, Mr. Rainsford. Will you not let me drive you
both back to Paris?"

He wanted nothing but to go with her then, any way, the farther the
better, and for ever. It came upon him suddenly, and he knew it. He
refused, of course, angry to be obliged to do so, angrier still at what
he was sure she would think was the reason for his doing so. She bade
them both good-bye, now thoroughly mistress of herself, and reminded him
that she would expect him the next day at three. She asked Miss Scarlet
many questions about her work and the schools, as they walked along a
little together, before Mrs. Faversham took the path that led to the
gate where her carriage waited.

* * * * *

When they were together again alone, Fairfax and his companion, in the
tram, he felt as though he had cut himself off once again, by his folly,
from everything desirable in the world. The night was cold. He did not
realize how silent he was or how silent she was. When they had nearly
reached Paris, Miss Scarlet said--

"Is it her portrait you thought I might get to paint?"

The question startled him, the voice as well. It was like being spoken
to suddenly by a perfect stranger.

"Yes," he answered, "she is wonderfully generous and open-hearted. I am
sure that she would give you an order."

"Please don't bother," said the girl proudly. "I would not take the
order."

Her tone was so curt and short that it brought Fairfax back to
realities.

"Why, pray, don't you find her paintable?" he asked.

The girl's voice was contemptuous. "I don't know. I didn't look at her
with that idea."

Fairfax had nothing left him but his self-reproach, his humiliation, his
sense of degradation, though God knows the outing was innocent enough!
The Thing had happened. The Event had transpired. The veil had been
drawn away from his heart when he saw her there in the park and spoke to
her. The idea that she must think him light and vulgar-minded, an
ordinary Bohemian, amusing himself as is the fashion in the Latin
Quarter, was unbearable to him. He would have given his right hand to
have been alone in the park and to have met her alone. Under the spell
of his suffering, he said cruelly to the girl whom he had so wantonly
captured--

"If you won't let me help you in my way, I'm afraid I can't help you at
all."

And she returned, controlling her voice: "No, I am afraid you cannot
help me."

He was unconscious of her until