el humble, not quite satisfied
with himself--Coxeter disapproved of Mrs. Archdale. At the present
moment he disapproved of her rather more than usual, for if she meant
to give up that corner seat, why had she not so arranged as to sit by
him? Instead, she was now talking to the French boy who occupied what
should have been her seat.

But Nan Archdale, as all her friends called her, was always like that.
Coxeter never saw her, never met her at the houses to which he went
simply in order that he might meet her, without wondering why she wasted
so much of the time she might have spent in talking to him, and above
all in listening to him, in talking and listening to other people.

Four years ago, not long after their first acquaintance, he had made her
an offer of marriage, impelled by something which had appeared at the
time quite outside himself and his usual wise, ponderate view of life.
He had been relieved, as well as keenly hurt, when she had refused him.

Everything that concerned himself appeared to John Coxeter of such
moment and importance that at the time it had seemed incredible that Nan
Archdale would be able to keep to herself the peculiar honour which had
befallen her,--one, by the way, which Coxeter had never seriously
thought of conferring on any other woman. But as time went on he became
aware that she had actually kept the secret which was not hers to
betray, and, emboldened by the knowledge that she alone knew of his
humiliating bondship, he had again, after a certain interval, written
and asked her if she would marry him. Again she had refused, in a kind,
impersonal little note, and this last time she had gone so far as to
declare that in this matter she really knew far better than he did
himself what was good for him, and once more something deep in his heart
had said "Amen."

When he thought about it, and he went on thinking about it more than was
quite agreeable for his own comfort or peace of mind, Coxeter would tell
himself, with what he believed to be a vicarious pang of regret, that
Mrs. Archdale had made a sad mistake as regarded her own interest. He
felt sure she was not fit to live alone; he knew she ought to be
surrounded by the kind of care and protection which only a husband can
properly bestow on a woman. He, Coxeter, would have known how to detach
her from the unsuitable people by whom she was always surrounded.

Nan Archdale, and Coxeter was much concerned that it was so, had an
ins