ques and the Golden Horn on a clear
summer evening. Why do I think of those days?" she added, shaking her
head impatiently. "Such folly! And yet I always think of them when I
am lonely."

He was suddenly and deeply moved with altogether a new feeling towards
her--one of responsibility. She was alone in the world, and it was his
father's hand which had rendered her so. How empty and barren had been
his conception of the burden which that deed had laid upon him! Like a
flash he seemed to see the whole situation in a new light. If, indeed,
she had drifted into ruin, the sin lay at his door. He should have
found her a mother; it should have been his care to have watched her
continually, and to have assured himself that she was contented and
happy. In those few moments the whole situation seemed to change, and
he even felt a hot flush of shame at his own coldness towards her. He
forgot the dancer, the woman of strange fascinations, the idol of the
_jeunesse doree_ of West London clubdom, and he remembered only the
fact that she was a lonely orphan with a most womanly light in her
soft, dark eyes, and that he had failed in his duty towards her.
Paul was essentially a "manly" man, self-contained, and with all
his feelings very much at his control; but at that moment he felt
something like a rush of tenderness towards this strange, dark-eyed
girl who lay coiled up at his feet. Involuntarily he stretched out his
hand and laid it, with an almost caressing gesture, upon her hair.

She started around, as though electrified, and looking up saw the
change in his face. It was the first kindly look or speech she had
had from him since they had met in London, and it had come so suddenly
that it seemed to have a strange effect upon her. A deep flush stole
into her face, and her eyes gleamed brilliantly. She drew a long
breath, and underneath her loose gown he could see her bosom rising
and falling quickly. Yet it all seemed so softened and womanly that
the thoughts which he had once had of her seemed like a distant
nightmare to him. The ethical and physical horror of her being--of her
ever becoming--what he feared, rose up strong within him, and deepened
at once his sense of responsibility towards her, and his new-born
tenderness. He took her hand gently, and was startled to find how cold
it was.

"So you do feel lonely, Adrea, sometimes," he said softly, "although
you have so many acquaintances."

The colour burned deeper for a mom