the face. "Don't break my heart,
dear," she said gently. "It is as hard for me as it is for you. Think,
darling, what it might be, if you gave her up. If she were to kill
herself, our love would be a curse to us. Dearest, the face of that
woman we saw on the Embankment still haunts me. It was the face of a
woman whose heart had been broken. I tell you, dear, that if I had not
of myself the strength to part from you to-night, the awful glimpse I
had of her face would have given it to me. I have always seen where our
duty lay; yet I read it in that poor face a thousand times more.
Darling, it must now be goodbye. I shall often think of you here, and of
this evening--and of our whole glorious day," she added, smiling. "Come,
you do promise all that I ask of you?"

Her smile and her cheerful note won his surrender. "I promise," he said
slowly and solemnly, yet with distinct decision. "All that you have
urged on me shall be sacred, shall be the principle of my life."

"Thank you, darling," she said simply. "I believe you, and I trust you
absolutely."

They gripped hands, looking each other full in the face. The
neighbouring church clock sounded its preliminary change, then struck
two sonorous notes. It recalled them to the sense of the night and the
silent world without. "Come," he said at last. "I will escort you back."

They went down, and out into the street again. "The clouds and the rain
have vanished. It is a beautiful night again," she said. "Even that
helps to soften the moment."

He strolled along by her side; they spoke now of matter-of-fact points.
If the picture were accepted by the Salon he was to send it eventually
to her father's country-house in the North. She hoped, too, he would not
entirely forget her father, but that he and his wife would call and see
him at Grosvenor Place--they could count on finding him there most years
during the height of the London season. And, by the way, she was curious
to know how the picture would fare when it got to Paris. Was the Salon
so considerate to foreigners that it took the trouble to open
packing-cases and take care of them? Wyndham gravely explained that
pictures were usually consigned to the good offices of a French
frame-maker who unpacked and delivered them to the Salon, afterwards
collecting them and sending them back to England when the show was over.
Some of these people had a large foreign clientele, and put only a
moderate value on their services. Thus c