she offered to shake hands.

'No use, Jessie,' Dagworthy remarked quietly, without answering her
gesture.

'Of course, I know it's no use,' she said in a hurried voice of shame.
'I know it as well as you can tell me. I wish I'd never come.'

'But you don't act badly,' he continued.

'What do you mean?' she exclaimed, indignation helping her to raise her
eyes for a moment. 'I'm not acting.'

'You don't mean anything by it--that's all.'

'No, perhaps not. Good-bye.'

'Good-bye. I'm going away before very long. I dare say I shan't see you
again before then.'

'Where are you going to?'

'Abroad.'

'I suppose you'll bring back a foreign wife,' she said with sad
scornfulness.

'No, I'm not likely to do that. I shouldn't wonder if I'm away for some
time, though--perhaps a couple of years.'

'Years!' she exclaimed in astonishment.

He laughed.

'That startles you. I shan't be back in time for your wedding, you see.'

She sobbed again, averting her face.

'I shan't ever be married. I'm one of those wretched things nobody ever
cares for.'

'You'll have to show you deserve it. Why, you couldn't give your word
and keep it for two years.'

Through this extraordinary scene Dagworthy was utterly unlike himself.
It was as if a man suffering physical agony should suddenly begin to
jest and utter wild mirth; there was the same unreality in his
behaviour. Throughout it all the lines of his face never lost their
impress of gloom. Misery had its clutch upon him, and he was driven by
an inexplicable spirit of self-mockery to burlesque the subject of his
unhappiness. He had no sense of responsibility, and certain instincts
were strongly excited, making a kind of moral intoxication.

Jessie answered his question with wide eyes.

'I couldn't?--Ah!'

She spoke under her breath, and with sincerity which was not a little
amusing.

'It's New Year's Eve, isn't it?' Dagworthy pursued, throwing out his
words at random. 'Be here this day two years--or not, as you like. I'm
going to wander about, but I shall be here on that day--that is, if I'm
alive. You won't though. Good-bye.'

He turned away from her, and went to the 'window. Jessie moved a little
nearer.

'Do you mean that?' she asked.

'Mean it?' he repeated, 'why, yes, as much as I mean anything. Be off;
you're keeping that poor devil in the snow.'

'Mr. Dagworthy, I shall be here, and you daren't pretend to forget, or
to say you weren't in earnest.'

He lau