forms of marriage,' Rhoda answered in an
abrupt, harsh tone.

'Now it is you who play with a serious matter.'

'You said we had both changed. I see now that our "perfect day" was
marred by my weakness at the end. If you wish to go back in imagination
to that summer night, restore everything, only let _me_ be what I now
am.'

Everard shook his head.

'Impossible. It must be then or now for both of us.'

'Legal marriage,' she said, glancing at him, 'has acquired some new
sanction for you since then?'

'On the whole, perhaps it has.'

'Naturally. But I shall never marry, so we will speak no more of it.'

As if finally dismissing the subject she walked to the opposite side of
the hearth, and there turned towards her companion with a cold smile.

'In other words, then, you have ceased to love me?'

'Yes, I no longer love you.'

'Yet, if I had been willing to revive that fantastic idealism--as you
thought it--'

She interrupted him sternly.

'What _was_ it?'

'Oh, a kind of idealism undoubtedly. I was so bent on making sure that
you loved me.'

She laughed.

'After all, the perfection of our day was half make-believe. You never
loved me with entire sincerity. And you will never love any woman--even
as well as you loved me.'

'Upon my soul, I believe it, Rhoda. And even now--'

'And even now it is just possible for us to say goodbye with something
like friendliness. But not if you talk longer. Don't let us spoil it;
things are so straight--and clear--'

A threatened sob made her break off, but she recovered herself and
offered him her hand.

* * *

He walked all the way back to his hotel, and the cold, clammy night
restored his equanimity. A fortnight later, sending a Christmas
present, with greetings, to Mr. and Mrs. Micklethwaite, he wrote thus--

'I am about to do my duty--as you put it--that is, to marry. The name
of my future wife is Miss Agnes Brissenden. It will be in March, I
think. But I shall see you before then, and give you a fuller account
of myself.'

CHAPTER XXXI

A NEW BEGINNING

Widdowson tried two or three lodgings; he settled at length in a small
house at Hampstead; occupying two plain rooms. Here, at long intervals,
his friend Newdick came to see him, but no one else. He had brought
with him a selection of solid books from his library, and over these
the greater part of each day was spent. Not that he studied with any
zeal; reading, and of a kind that demanded cl