e quaint, coloured picture on its panel. And then, with a
movement which, strangely, was an acute reminder of a way Victoria had,
Euphrasia turned and searched his face once more.

"You're not happy," she said.

He could not put this aside--nor did he wish to. Her own confidence had
been so simple, so fine, so sure of his sympathy, that he felt it would
be unworthy to equivocate; the confessions of the self-reliant are
sacred things. Yes, and there had been times when he had longed to
unburden himself; but he had had no intimate on this plane, and despite
the great sympathy between them--that Euphrasia might understand had
never occurred to him. She had read his secret.

In that instant Euphrasia, with the instinct which love lends to her
sex, had gone farther; indignation seized her--and the blame fell
upon the woman. Austen's words, unconsciously, were an answer to her
thoughts.

"It isn't anybody's fault but my own," he said.

Euphrasia's lips were tightly closed. Long ago the idol of her youth
had faded into the substance of which dreams are made--to be recalled by
dreams alone; another worship had filled her heart, and Austen Vane had
become--for her--the fulness and the very meaning of life itself; one to
be admired of all men, to be desired of all women. Visions of Austen's
courtship had at times risen in her mind, although Euphrasia would not
have called it a courtship. When the time came, Austen would confer; and
so sure of his judgment was Euphrasia that she was prepared to take the
recipient of the priceless gift into her arms. And now! Was it possible
that a woman lived who would even hesitate? Curiosity seized Euphrasia
with the intensity of a passion. Who was this woman? When and where
had he seen her? Ripton could not have produced her--for it was
characteristic of Euphrasia that no girl of her acquaintance was worthy
to be raised to such a height; Austen's wife would be an unknown of
ideal appearance and attainments. Hence indignation rocked Euphrasia,
and doubts swayed her. In this alone she had been an idealist, but
she might have known that good men were a prey to the unworthy of the
opposite sex.

She glanced at Austen's face, and he smiled at her gently, as though he
divined something of her thoughts.

"If it isn't your fault, that you're not happy, then the matter's easily
mended," she said.

He shook his head at her, as though in reproof.

"Was yours--easily mended?" he asked.

Euphra