at differently. You must be
received as your mother's daughter, and not as the King's
granddaughter."

She nodded gravely. Then she leaned across the table and looked into my
eyes. Notwithstanding her pallor and her black dress, I was forced to
realize what I ever forbade my thoughts to dwell upon--her great and
increasing beauty. She looked into my eyes, and my heart stood still.

"Arnold," she murmured, "shall you miss me?"

My heel dug into the turf beneath my foot. My eyes fell from hers. I
dared not look at her.

"We shall all miss you so much," I said gravely, "that life will never
be the same again to us. You made it beautiful for a little time, and
your absence will be hard to bear. I suppose we shall all turn to hard
work," I added, with an attempt at lightness. "Allan will paint his
great picture, Arthur will invent a new motor and make his fortune, and
I shall write my immortal story."

"The story," she said, "which you would not show me?"

Show her! How could I, when I knew that for one who read between the
lines the story of my own suffering was there? My secret had been hard
enough to keep faithfully, even from her to whom the truth, had she ever
divined it, must have seemed so incredible.

"That one, perhaps," I answered lightly, "or the next! Who can tell? One
is never a judge of one's own work, you know."

"Why would you not show me that story, Arnold?" she asked softly.

I met her eyes fixed upon me with a peculiar intentness. I tried to
escape them, but I could not. It was impossible for me to lie to her. My
voice shook as I answered her.

"Don't ask me, Isobel!" I said. "We all make mistakes sometime, you
know. Not to show you that story when you asked me was one of mine."

"If you had it here----?"

"If I had it here I would show it you," I declared.

She sighed. She did not seem altogether satisfied.

"Sometimes, Arnold," she said thoughtfully, "you puzzle me very much.
You treat me always as though I were a child; you keep me at arm's
length always, as though there were between us some impassable barrier,
as though it could never be possible for you to come into my world or
for me to pass into yours. I know that you are wiser and cleverer than I
am, but I can learn. I have been learning all the time. Are we always to
remain at this great distance?"

"Dear Isobel," I answered, "you forget that I am more than twice your
age. You are eighteen, and I am thirty-four. I cannot make mys