A spasm of pain crossed Desmond's face, and he turned sharply away.

"Poor little soul!" he reflected as he went; "shall I ever be able to
make her understand?"

CHAPTER XVIII.

LOVE THAT IS LIFE!

"Love that is Life;
Love that is Death,
Love that is mine!"
--GIPSY SONG.

Not until night condemned her to solitude and thought did Honor
frankly confront the calamity that had come upon her with the force of
a blow, cutting her life in two, shattering her pride, her joy, her
inherent hopefulness of heart.

The insignificant fact that her life was broken did not set the world
a hair's breadth out of gear; and through the day she held her head
high, looking and speaking as usual, because she still had faith and
strength and courage; and, having these, the saddest soul alive will
not be utterly cast down.

She spent most of her time with Evelyn; and succeeded in so far
reconciling her to Theo's decision that Evelyn slipped quietly into
the study, where he sat reading, and flinging her arms round him
whispered broken words of penitence into the lapel of his coat; a
proceeding even more disintegrating to his resolution than her
attitude of the morning.

Honor rode out to the polo-ground with them later on in the day,
returning with Paul Wyndham, who stayed to dinner, a habit that had
grown upon him since the week at Lahore. She wondered a little
afterwards what he had talked of during the ride, and what she had
said in reply; but since he seemed satisfied, she could only hope that
she had not betrayed herself by any incongruity of speech or manner.

During the evening she talked and played with a vigour and
cheerfulness which quite failed to deceive Desmond. But of this she
was unaware. The shock of the morning had stunned her brain. She
herself and those about her were as dream-folk moving in a dream while
her soul sat apart, in some vague region of space, noting and
applauding her body's irreproachable behaviour. Only now and then,
when she caught Theo's eyes resting on her face, the whole
dream-fabric fell to pieces, and stabbed her spirit broad awake.

Desmond himself could not altogether shut out anxious conjecture. By
an instinct he could hardly have explained, he spoke very little to
the girl, except to demand certain favourite pieces of music, most of
which, to his surprise, she laughingly refused to play. Only, in
bidding her good-night, he held her hand a moment lon