lessed moment when I should be at your feet, as I am now?'

She trembled. Her hand seemed to leap in his. His gaze melted, enwrapped
her. He bent forward. In another moment her silence would have so
answered for her that his covetous arms would have stolen about her for
good and ill. But suddenly a kind of shiver ran through her--a shiver
which was half memory, half shame. She drew back violently, covering her
eyes with her hand.

'Oh no, no!' she cried, and her other hand struggled to get free,
'don't, don't talk to me so--I have a--a--confession.'

He watched her, his lips trembling a little, a smile of the most
exquisite indulgence and understanding dawning in his eyes. Was she
going to confess to him what he knew so well already? If he could only
force her to say it on his breast.

But she held him at arm's length.

'You remember--you remember Mr. Langham?'

'Remember him!' echoed Mr. Flaxman fervently.

'That thought-reading night at Lady Charlotte's, on the way home, he
spoke to me. I said I loved him. I _did_ love him; I let him kiss me!'

Her flush had quite faded. He could hardly tell whether she was yielding
or defiant as the words burst from her.

An expression, half trouble, half compunction, came into his face.

'I knew,' he said, very low; 'or rather, I guessed.' And for an instant
it occurred to him to unburden himself, to ask her pardon for that
espionage of his. But no, no; not till he had her safe. 'I guessed, I
mean, that there had been something grave between you. I saw you were
sad. I would have given the world to comfort you.'

Her lip quivered childishly.

'I said I loved him that night. The next morning he wrote to me that it
could never be.'

He looked at her a moment embarrassed. The conversation was not easy.
Then the smile broke once more.

'And you have forgotten him as he deserved. If I was not sure of that
I could wish him all the tortures of the _Inferno!_ As it is, I cannot
think of him; I cannot let you think of him. Sweet, do you know that
ever since I first saw you the one thought of my days, the dream of my
nights, the purpose of my whole life, has been to win you? There was
another in the field; I knew it. I stood by and waited. He failed you--I
knew he must in some form or other. Then I was hasty, and you resented
it. Little tyrant, you made yourself a Rose with many thorns! But, tell
me, tell me, its all over--your pain, my waiting. Make yourself sweet to
me! unfo