at he, for his part, should have longed to
speak to her, heart to heart, of that mysterious thing which had
divided them, and to tell her that, in spite of all--in spite of
facts that had been flaunted before his eyes in society, in the
public prints, and everywhere--he had never quite succeeded in
stilling a small voice in his soul which had continued to declare
that the young girl to whom he had so passionately given his love was
less fickle and unfaithful than these facts had shown her to be. Now,
more than ever, this insistent voice repeated itself. How he longed
to ask her the simple question! But then came common-sense, and
demanded, What question? Was there any question which he could ask
her to which the fact and conditions of her marriage to Lord Hurdly
were not a final answer?

As for Bettina, she had also her longings to take advantage of
that interview, when they were speaking together in such friendly
converse, by telling him of the letter of confession which she had
received, but pride here took the place of common-sense, and bade
her to be silent.

They had gone over all the papers together now. There was no longer
any excuse for lingering. He had given and repeated his assurances
that all these abuses which she so lamented should be remedied, and
she had thanked him again and again. Both felt that the time to part
had come. And yet both felt an impulse to postpone it. It was her
consciousness of this feeling which now made Bettina act. There was
an influence from his very presence which alarmed her.

"I must go now," she said, her voice a shade unsteady.

"No, it is I who am going," was the answer. "I return at once to
London, as I have neither the right nor the desire to intrude upon
your privacy. I wish to say, however, that I do not accept your
decision as to your future income. I beg you to give my wish, my
earnest request, your consideration. I shall write to you. Perhaps
I can put the case more clearly so. At all events, I shall try."

Bettina shook her head.

"You will simply waste your time," she said. "Nothing can change me
from my purpose of going at once to America, with no income but my
own little inheritance, and taking up my old life there."

The word inheritance had suggested to both of them the thought of her
mother. They saw the consciousness in each other's eyes.

"How can you take up your old life there," he said, "when the
presence which made its interest, its very atmospher