ce."

"How strange! Another man did the same. One can never keep a secret
in this world. Well--it was the letter I spoke of that did all the
harm; that broke up everything between us for five years. Can you
wonder that I've never forgiven the writer, and never shall? Not
because he wrote unfairly of me, but because of all that Eldred
suffered then, and afterwards."

"Did you never make allowance for the fact that he could not have known
how things were between you,--that he meant no harm?"

"I'm afraid I made _no_ allowances; though I'm quite aware that,
speaking justly, one can't blame him. Probably Eldred never did. But
I told you my dislikes were unreasonable; and it makes me hate him to
think that he was quite happy away there in England all those five
years, while Eldred was half-killing himself with work and misery."

"Yes, I understand that. But it's all over now; and the harm's
repaired."

"I hope so, in a measure; though it's my belief that harm done can
never really be repaired; only patched up."

"That's a very terrible doctrine, Mrs Lenox."

"I'm afraid facts go to prove the truth of it."

Although she spoke quietly, a touch of hardness had invaded her voice;
and Richardson had no answer to give her. His cheerful, easy-going
nature had rarely been so deeply stirred. A new and delightful
experience seemed to be taking an unlooked-for turn, and his lame
attempts at self-defence in the third person struck him as bordering on
the grotesque. He set his teeth and flicked the pony viciously; then
hauled at his mouth because he broke into a canter. Yet he was a
tender-hearted man.

"Poor little beast! Don't treat him like that," she rebuked him,
between jest and earnest, "What's wrong? The city seems to have
disagreed with you."

Again he did not answer: and for a time they drove on without speaking,
each, if the truth be told, thinking of the other. Then she startled
him with one of her direct, inconsequent questions.

"Mr Richardson, how old are you?"

He laughed.

"Just thirty. Why?"

"I was only wondering. You're the sort of man who ought to marry.
Have you never thought of it yet?"

"No. Too little money. Besides, I'm a lazy beggar, and I shirk the
responsibility."

"That means you've never been in love!"

"I suppose not. Nothing more serious than a passing inclination. Mere
growing pains!" He smiled at the remembrance of a certain romantic
episode in his early twen