in the depths of each other's eyes. The passengers' faces
were all turned forward; there was no one on a line with them; virtually
they were alone.

"I do not know what your object is in bringing in Mrs. Lorrington's name
so often," said Heathcote. "She does not need your championship, I
assure you."

"How base to desert her so!"

"Not any more base than to marry a man you do not love," replied
Heathcote. "I hardly know anything more base than that. But marry _me_,
my darling," he added, his voice softening as he bent toward her, "and
you shall see how I will love you."

"You said I could go," said the girl, turning from him, and putting her
hand over her eyes.

"You may go, if you are afraid. But I hardly think you a coward. No; let
us have it out now. Here you are, engaged. Here I am, half engaged. We
meet. Do you suppose I wish to love you? Not at all. You are by no means
the wife I have intended to have. Do you wish to love me? No. You wish
to be faithful to your engagement. In a worldly point of view we could
not do a more foolish deed than to marry each other. You have nothing,
and a burden of responsibilities; I have very little, and a much heavier
burden of bad habits and idleness. What is the result? By some unknown
enchantment I begin to love you, you begin to love me. The very fact
that I am sitting here to-day conclusively proves the former. I am as
fond of you as a school-boy, Anne. In truth, you have made me act like a
school-boy. This is a poor place to woo you in; but, dear, just look at
me once, only once more."

But Anne would not look. In all her struggles and all her resolutions,
all her jealousy and her humiliation, she had made no provision against
this form of trial, namely, that he should love her like this.

"Oh, go, go; leave me," she murmured, hardly able to speak. He gathered
the words more from the movement of her lips than from any sound.

"I will go if you wish it. But I shall come back," he said. And then,
quietly, he left her alone, and returned to Jeanne-Armande.

The Frenchwoman was charmed; she had not expected him so soon. She said
to herself, with a breath of satisfaction, that her conversation had
fallen in fit places.

Alone, looking at the hills as they passed in procession, Anne collected
her scattered resolves, and fought her battle. In one way it was a sweet
moment to her. She had felt dyed with eternal shame at having given her
love unsought, uncared for; but he l