he was dear to him; but that he should be
kept at arm's length because she had determined that she should not
become his wife! That they should love each other dearly; but each
with a different idea of love! It was her fault that he should be
there in her presence at all. She had told herself that it was her
duty to sacrifice herself, but she had only half carried out her
duty. Should she not have kept her love to herself,--so that he might
have left her, as he certainly would have done had she behaved to
him coldly, and as her duty had required of her. She had longed
for some sweetness which would be sweet to her though only a vain
encouragement to him. She had painted for her own eyes a foolish
picture, had dreamed a silly dream. She had fancied that for the
little of life that was left to her she might have been allowed the
delight of loving, and had been vain enough to think that her lover
might be true to her and yet not suffer himself! Her sacrifice had
been altogether imperfect. With herself she was angry,--not with him.
Angry with him, whose very footfall was music to her ears! Angry with
him, whose smile to her was as a light specially sent from heaven for
her behoof! Angry with him, the very energy of whose passion thrilled
her with a sense of intoxicating joy! Angry with him because she had
been enabled for once,--only for once,--to feel the glory of her
life, to be encircled in the warmth of his arms, to become conscious
of the majesty of his strength! No,--she was not angry. But he must
be made to understand,--he must be taught to acknowledge,--that he
must never, never come to her again. The mind can conceive a joy so
exquisite that for the enjoyment of it, though it may last but for a
moment, the tranquillity, even the happiness, of years may be given
in exchange. It must be so with her. It had been her own doing, and
if the exchange were a bad one, she must put up with the bargain. He
must never come again. Then Mrs. Roden had entered the room, and she
was forced to utter whatever word of welcome might first come to her
tongue.

"Yes," said Hampstead, trying to smile, as though nothing had
happened which called for special seriousness of manner, "I am here.
I am here, and hope to be here often and often till I shall have
succeeded in taking our Marion to another home."

"No," said Marion faintly, uttering her little protest ever so
gently.

"You are very constant, my lord," said Mrs. Roden.

"I sup