o have a shadowy
relation to him. It made him realise with astonishment how easily he
might cut the Robinsons out of his life, and proceed as if he had never
known them. His bond of obligation was more real to him than the people
to whom he was bound!

He was shrewd enough to see that in his heart of hearts he was sullenly
and perpetually angry that so much had come to him from so extraneous a
source. Where his own strength and gifts had failed, these people from a
world that was not his world, either in thought or mode, had come in and
brought him prosperity. This galling sense of absolute dependence on the
Robinsons seemed the deepest humiliation he had known. They had given
him food when he was nigh starvation; they had given work when the
prospect of work had vanished--had showered on him benefits and
kindnesses innumerable. They had restored him to society and to the
world of art and letters. He owed them the confidence of his bearing
before the world, the manly swing of his step, the pride of his glance.

That this should be his destiny was horrible! He rebelled and cried out
with all his might. Oh! to wield the sceptre of destiny himself!--to
shape the evolution of a brilliant career and merit the crown of a
great love by his own power and performance!

And yet at the back of his troubled mind there lay in terrible calm the
stern determination to stand by his obligations. His promise to Lady
Betty was in no danger. All this feverish agitation was but as the surf
beating on a granite shore. He knew that he would bow his head in
resignation; that, after the parting with Lady Betty, he would settle
down as the most attentive of husbands; acquiescent of an atmosphere of
physical well-being, yet paradoxically living from hand to mouth, so far
as his deeper life was concerned; thankful for any morsel of good each
day might bring him, and looking not beyond its horizon.

Alice should have her happiness, never guessing what turmoil and torture
two souls had voluntarily undergone for her.

XX

In the silence and privacy of her room Alice was sobbing her life away.
Like an opium eater, she had sought magnificent dreams, had surrendered
herself to beautiful illusions, had duped herself supremely. But the
awakening was fraught with fever and suffering.

On that memorable afternoon when her father had brought home the
wonderful announcement that Wyndham was to follow him, Alice had looked
at herself in the gla