leave the train at Centerville, I am surprised that he should not have
returned to make us his farewells," she said, acidly.

"He is not always attentive to such things," said Anne.

"On the contrary. _I_ have found him extremely attentive," retorted
mademoiselle, veering again.

But at this stage Heathcote entered, and Anne's hope that he had left
them was dashed to the ground. He noted the situation; and then he asked
mademoiselle if she would not join him in the other seat for a while.
The flattered Frenchwoman consented, and as he followed her he gave Anne
a glance which said, "Check." And Anne felt that it was "check" indeed.

He had no intention of troubling her; he would give her time to grow
tired.

But she was tired already.

At last, however, he did come. They were in plain sight now, people were
sitting behind them; she could not childishly refuse to let him take the
vacant place beside her. But at least, she thought, his words must be
guarded, or people behind would make out what he said, even from the
motion of his lips.

But Heathcote never cared for people.

"Dear," he said, bending toward her, "I am so glad to be with you
again!" After all, he had managed to place himself so that by supporting
his cheek with his hand, the people behind could not see his face at
all, much less make out what he said.

Anne did not reply.

"Won't you even look at me? I must content myself, then, with your
profile."

"You are ungenerous," she answered, in a tone as low as his own. "It
will end in my feeling a contempt for you."

"And I--never felt so proud of myself in all my life before. For what am
I doing? Throwing away all my fixed ideas of what life should be, for
your sake, and glad to do it."

"Mr. Heathcote, will you never believe that I am in earnest?"

"I know very well that you are in earnest. But I shall be equally in
earnest in breaking down the barriers between us. When that Western
lover of yours is married to some one else, and Mrs. Lorrington
likewise, _then_ shall we not be free?"

"Helen will never marry any one else."

"Why do you not say that Mr. Pronando never will?"

"Because I am not sure," she answered, with sad humility.

"Are you going to tell him all that has happened?"

"Yes."

"And leave the decision to him?"

"Yes."

"You will put yourself in a false position, then. If you really intend
to marry him, it would be safer to tell him nothing," said Heathcote, in
an imp