nfair,
it was grotesque.

Gradually, however, Hugh forgot his smouldering hate of Lady Newhaven,
his sense of injustice and anger against fate; he forgot everything in
his love for Rachel. It became the only reality of his life.

He had remained in London throughout October and November, cancelling
all his engagements because she was there. What her work was he vaguely
apprehended: that she was spending herself and part of her colossal
fortune in the East End, but he took no interest in it. He was incapable
of taking more interests into his life at this time. He passed many
quiet evenings with her in the house in Park Lane, which she had lately
bought. The little secretary who lived with her had always a faint smile
and more writing to do than usual on the evenings when he dined with
them.

A great peace was over all their intercourse. Perhaps it was the hush
before the storm, the shadow of which was falling, falling, with each
succeeding day across the minds of both. Once only a sudden gust of
emotion stirred the quiet air, but it dropped again immediately. It came
with the hour when Hugh confessed to her the blot upon his past. The
past was taking upon itself ever an uglier and more repulsive aspect as
he saw more of Rachel. It was hard to put into words, but he spoke of
it. The spectre of love rose like a ghost between them, as they looked
earnestly at each other, each pale even in the ruddy fire-light.

Hugh was truthful in intention. He was determined he would never lie to
Rachel. He implied an intrigue with a married woman, a deviation not
only from morality, but from honor. More he did not say. But as he
looked at her strained face it seemed to him that she expected something
more. A dreadful silence fell between them when he had finished. Had
she then no word for him. Her eyes--mute, imploring, dark with an agony
of suspense--met his for a second and fell instantly. She did not speak.
Her silence filled him with despair. He got up. "It's getting late. I
must go," he stammered.

She rose, mechanically, and put out her hand.

"May I come again?" he said, holding it more tightly than he knew, and
looking intently at her. Was he going to be dismissed?

The pain he caused her hand recalled her to herself. A look of
bewilderment crossed her face, and then she realized his suspense and
said, gravely, "You may come again."

He kissed the hand he held, and, as he did so, he knew for the first
time that she love