h he had been so
admirably conducted as to restrain his conversation to the most
commonplace, and had not suggested that the conservatory was a capital
place to get cool in between the dances.

The comb she was doing her hair with at the time caught in her hair as
she came to this point, and she flung it angrily from her, and assured
herself that the tears that had suddenly come into her eyes arose from
the pain that that hateful instrument of torture had caused her.

Yes, Felix had taken the right course; he had at least learned that she
could never be anything to him--could never--forgive him. It showed
great dignity in him, great strength of mind. She had told him, at least
given him to understand when in London, that he should forget her,
and--he had forgotten. He had obeyed her. The comb must have hurt her
again, and worse this time, because now the tears are running down her
cheeks. How horrible it is to be unforgiving! People who don't forgive
never go to heaven. There seems to be some sort of vicious consolation
in this thought.

In truth, Dysart's behavior to her since his return has been all she had
led him to understand it ought to be. He it so changed toward her in
every way that sometimes she has wondered if he has forgotten all the
strange, unhappy past, and is now entirely emancipated from the torture
of love unrequited that once had been his.

It is a train of thought she has up to this shrank from pursuing, yet
which, she being strong in certain ways, should have been pursued by her
to the bitter end. One small fact, however, had rendered her doubtful.
She could not fail to notice that whenever he and she are together in
the morning room, ballroom, or at luncheon or dinner, or breakfast,
though he will not approach or voluntarily address her unless she first
makes an advance toward him, a rare occurrence; still, if she raises her
eyes to his, anywhere, at any moment, it is to find his on her!

And what sad eyes! Searching, longing, despairing, angry, but always
full of an indescribable tenderness.

Last night she had specially noticed this--but then last night he had
specially held aloof from her. No, no! It was no use dwelling upon it.
He would not forgive. That chapter in her life was closed. To attempt to
open it again would be to court defeat.

Joyce, however, had not been the only one to whom last night had been a
disappointment. Beauclerk's determination to propose to her--to put his
fortu