eard the news which Chillington himself
told me, without a glimmer of shame or a touch of embarrassment, some
two hours later, I do not know; but hear it she did before luncheon;
for she came down, ready armed with the neatest little speeches for
both the happy lovers.

I did not expect Pamela to show an ounce more feeling than the
strictest canons of propriety demanded, and she fulfilled my
expectations to the letter; but I had hoped, I confess, that
Chillington would have displayed some little consciousness. He did
not; and it is my belief that, throughout the events which I have
recorded, he retained, and that he still retains, the conviction that
Miss Liston's interest in him was purely literary and artistic, and
that she devoted herself to his society simply because he offered an
interesting problem and an inspiring theme.

An ingenious charity may find in that attitude evidence of modesty; to
my thinking, it argues a more subtle and magnificent conceit than if he
had fathomed the truth, as many humbler men in his place would have
done.

On the day after the engagement was accomplished Miss Liston left us to
return to London. She came out in her hat and jacket and sat down by
me; the carriage was to be round in ten minutes. She put on her gloves
slowly and buttoned them carefully. This done, she said:

"By the way, Mr. Wynne, I've adopted your suggestion. The man doesn't
find out."

"Then you've made him a fool?" I asked bluntly.

"No," she answered. "I--I think it might happen though he wasn't a
fool."

She sat with her hands in her lap for a moment or two, then she went
on, in a lower voice:

"I'm going to make him find out afterward."

I felt her glance on me, but I looked straight in front of me.

"What, after he's married the shallow girl?"

"Yes," said Miss Liston.

"Rather too late, isn't it? At least, if you mean there is to be a
happy ending."

Miss Liston enlaced her fingers.

"I haven't decided about the ending yet," said she.

"If you're intent to be tragical--which is the fashion--you'll do as
you stand," said I.

"Yes," she answered slowly, "if I'm tragical, I shall do as I stand."

There was another pause, and rather a long one; the wheels of the
carriage were audible on the gravel of the front drive. Miss Liston
stood up. I rose and held out my hand.

"Of course," said Miss Liston, still intent on her novel, "I could----"
She stopped again, and looked apprehensively