ht we were sitting here by the fire--it was a remarkably chill
evening and we had kindled a blaze in he chimney and shut the windows.
Mr. Rhys sat silent, watching the fire and keeping up the blaze; too
busy with his own thoughts to talk to me. I was taken with a spirit of
meddling which does not very often possess me; and asked him how much
longer he had to stay. He said how long, in so many words; they were
short, as pain makes words.

"'How comes it,' I asked, plunging into the matter, 'that you do not
take a wife with you? like everybody else.'

"He answered, in dry phrases, 'that it would be presumption in him to
suppose that anybody would go with him, if he were to ask.'

"I said quietly, I thought he was mistaken; that anybody who was worthy
of him would go; and it could not be _presumption_ to ask anybody else.

"'You do not realize, Mrs. Caxton, how much it would be asking of any
one,' he said; 'you do not know what sacrifices it would call for.'

"'Love does not care for sacrifices,' I reminded him.

"'I have no right to suppose that anybody has such a degree of regard
for me,' he said.

"I can't tell what in his manner and words told me there was more
behind. They were a little short and dry; and his ordinary way of
speaking is short sometimes, but never with a sort of edge like this--a
hard edge. You know it is as frank and simple when he speaks short as
when his words come out in the gentlest way. It hurt me, for I saw that
something hurt him.

"I asked if there was not anybody in England good enough for him? He
said there were a great many too good.

"'Mr. Rhys,' said I,--I don't know what possessed me to be so bold,--'I
hope you are not going to leave your heart behind with somebody, when
you go to Fiji?'

"He got up and walked once or twice through the room, went out and
presently came back again. I was afraid I had offended him, and I was a
good deal troubled; but I did not know what to say. He sat down again
and spoke first.

"'Mrs. Caxton,' said he, 'since you have probed the truth, I may as
well confess it. I am going to do the unwise thing you have mentioned.'

"'Who are you going to leave your heart with, Mr. Rhys?' I asked.

"'With the lady who has just left you.'

"'Eleanor?'

"'Yes,' he said.

"'Have you told her, Mr. Rhys?' I asked.

"He said no.

"'You are not going to do her the injustice to go and _not_ speak to
her?'

"'Why should I tell her?' he said.

"'There mi