l with Gwendolen's mother;
he should begin from the very first.

"Yes," he said; "but as to her coming here--she mentions it in her
letter--Lady Dashwood will decide about that. I don't know what her
plans are."

Gwendolen looked disappointed. "And I may talk to Lady Dashwood, to Mrs.
Dashwood, and anybody about our engagement?" she asked.

"Certainly," he said, but he spoke stiffly.

"And--and--" said the girl, following him to the door and stretching out
her hand towards his arm as she walked but not touching it,--"shall I
see you to-morrow morning before you go to town?"

The Warden felt as if he had been dealt a light but acutely painful
blow.

Shall I see you to-morrow morning? Already she was claiming her right
over him, her right to see him, to know of his movements. He had for
many years been the servant of the College. He had given the College his
entire allegiance, but he had also been its master. He had been the
strong man among weaker men, and, as all men of his type are, he had
been alone, uninterfered with, rather remote in matters concerning his
private personal life. And now this mere child demanded explanations of
him. It was a bitter moment for his pride and independence. However
strictly he might bind his wife to his will, his own freedom had gone;
he was no longer the man he had been. If this simple question, "Shall I
see you to-morrow morning?" tortured his self-respect, how would he be
able to bear what was coming upon him day by day? He had to bear it.
That was the only answer to the question!

"I am starting early," he said. "But I shall be back on Saturday, some
time in the afternoon probably."

Gwendolen's brain was in a whirl. Her desire had been consummated. The
Warden was hers, but, somehow, he was not quite what he had been on that
Monday evening. He was cold, at least rather cold. Still he was hers;
that was fixed.

She waited for a moment to see if he meant to kiss her again. He did not
mean to, he held out his hand and smiled a little.

She kissed his hand. "I shall long for you to come back," she said, and
then ran out, leaving him alone to return to his desk with a heart sick
and empty.

"There can be no cohesion, no progress in the world, no hope for the
future of man, if men break their word; if there is no such thing as
inviolable honour," the Warden said to himself, just as he had said
before. "After all, as long as honour is left, one has a right to live,
to struggl