u again?" he asked, abruptly.

She shook her head. His gaze fell, seeing no softening in her clear
look.

"You are well named," he repeated, more to himself than to her.
"Constance! You are constant in your dislikes as well as your likes."

"I have no dislike for you," she replied. "It seems to have been left
behind me somewhere."

"Only indifference, then!" he said, dully.

"No; not indifference!"

"You do care what--may become of me?"

"You should do so much--be so much in the world," she answered,
thoughtfully.

"_Sans peur et sans reproche!_" he cried, half-amused, half-cheerlessly.
"What a pity I met you--too late!"

They were now at the broad entrance of the brilliantly-lighted hotel.
Several loungers, smoking their after-dinner cigars, gazed at the
couple curiously.

"Mauville's a lucky dog," said one.

"Yes; he was born with a silver spoon," replied the person addressed.

As he passed through the envious throng, the land baron had regained
his self-command, although his face was marked with an unusual pallor.
In his mind one thought was paramount--that the walk begun at the
burial-ground was drawing to an end; their last walk; the finale of
all between them! Yet he could call to mind nothing further to say.
His story had been told; the conclusion reached. She, too, had spoken,
and he knew she would never speak differently. Bewildered and unable
to adjust his new and strange feelings, it dawned upon him he had
never understood himself and her; that he had never really known what
love was, and he stood abashed, confronted by his own ignorance.
Passion, caprice, fancy, he had seen depth in their shallows, but now
looked down and discerned the pebbly bottom. All this and much more
surged through his brain as he made his way through the crowd, and,
entering the corridor of the hotel, took formal leave of the young
girl at the stairway.

"Good-night, Miss Carew," he said, gravely.

"Good-night," she replied. And then, on the steps, she turned and
looked down at him, extending her hand: "Thank you!"

That half-timid, low "thank you!" he knew was all he would ever
receive from her. He hardly felt the hand-clasp; he was hardly
conscious when she turned away. A heavier hand fell upon his
shoulder.

"You sly dog!" said a thick voice. "Well, a judge of a good horse is a
judge of a handsome woman! We're making up a few bets on the horses
to-morrow. Colonel Ogelby will ride Dolly D, and I'm to ride my
G