ne had in it something that was more than melancholy,
and not much less than tragic; but for De Stancy such evening effects
possessed little meaning. He was engaged in an enterprise that taxed all
his resources, and had no sentiments to spare for air, earth, or skies.

'Remarkable scene,' said Power, mildly, at his elbow.

'Yes; I dare say it is,' said De Stancy. 'Time has been when I should
have held forth upon such a prospect, and wondered if its livid colours
shadowed out my own life, et caetera, et caetera. But, begad, I have
almost forgotten there's such a thing as Nature, and I care for nothing
but a comfortable life, and a certain woman who does not care for me!...
Now shall we go down?'

VIII.

It was quite true that De Stancy at the present period of his existence
wished only to escape from the hurly-burly of active life, and to win
the affection of Paula Power. There were, however, occasions when a
recollection of his old renunciatory vows would obtrude itself upon him,
and tinge his present with wayward bitterness. So much was this the case
that a day or two after they had arrived at Mainz he could not refrain
from making remarks almost prejudicial to his cause, saying to her, 'I
am unfortunate in my situation. There are, unhappily, worldly reasons
why I should pretend to love you, even if I do not: they are so strong
that, though really loving you, perhaps they enter into my thoughts of
you.'

'I don't want to know what such reasons are,' said Paula, with
promptness, for it required but little astuteness to discover that he
alluded to the alienated Wessex home and estates. 'You lack tone,' she
gently added: 'that's why the situation of affairs seems distasteful to
you.'

'Yes, I suppose I am ill. And yet I am well enough.'

These remarks passed under a tree in the public gardens during an odd
minute of waiting for Charlotte and Mrs. Goodman; and he said no more to
her in private that day. Few as her words had been he liked them better
than any he had lately received. The conversation was not resumed till
they were gliding 'between the banks that bear the vine,' on board one
of the Rhine steamboats, which, like the hotels in this early summer
time, were comparatively free from other English travellers; so that
everywhere Paula and her party were received with open arms and cheerful
countenances, as among the first swallows of the season.

The saloon of the steamboat was quite empty, the few passe