remember," he said, not without a certain sharpness of tone.
"You spoke of giving him help if he ever asked it of you--has he asked
it?"

She explained that what he seemed to be asking was Louis Craven's help,
and that his overtures with regard to the _Labour Clarion_ were
particularly opportune, seeing that Louis was pining to be able to
marry, and was losing heart, hope, and health for want of some fixed
employment. She spoke warmly of her friends and their troubles, and
Hallin's inward distaste had to admit that all she said was plausible.
Since the moment in that strange talk which had drawn them together,
when she had turned upon him with the passionate cry--"I see what you
mean, perfectly! but I am not going to marry Mr. Wharton, so don't
trouble to warn me--for the matter of that he has warned me
himself:--but my _gratitude_ he _has_ earned, and if he asks for it I
will _never_ deny it him "--since that moment there had been no word of
Wharton between them. At the bottom of his heart Hallin distrusted her,
and was ashamed of himself because of it. His soreness and jealousy for
his friend knew no bounds. "If that were to come on again"--he was
saying to himself now, as she talked to him--"I could not bear it, I
could not forgive her!"

He only wished that she would give up talking about Wharton altogether.
But, on the contrary, she would talk of him--and with a curious
persistence. She must needs know what Hallin thought of his career in
Parliament, of his prospects, of his powers as a speaker. Hallin
answered shortly, like some one approached on a subject for which he
cares nothing.

"Yet, of course, it is not that; it is injustice!" she said to herself,
with vehemence. "He _must_ care; they are his subjects, his interests
too. But he will not look at it dispassionately, because--"

So they fell out with each other a little, and the talk dragged. Yet,
all the while, Marcella's inner mind was conscious of quite different
thoughts. How good it was to be here, in this room, beside these two
people! She must show herself fractious and difficult with Hallin
sometimes; it was her nature. But in reality, that slight and fragile
form, that spiritual presence were now shrined in the girl's eager
reverence and affection. She felt towards him as many a Catholic has
felt towards his director; though the hidden yearning to be led by him
was often oddly covered, as now, by an outer self-assertion. Perhaps her
quarrel with