e me; that you will let
it make no difference in whatever regard you may have for me."

"I had better tell you at once that there must be no repetition of--of
what you told me last night."

Hosmer had feared it. He made no protest in words; his revolt was
inward and showed itself only in an added pallor and increased
rigidity of face lines. He arose and went to a near window, peering
for a while aimlessly out between the partly open slats.

"I hadn't thought of your being a Catholic," he said, finally turning
towards her with folded arms.

"Because you have never seen any outward signs of it. But I can't
leave you under a false impression: religion doesn't influence my
reason in this."

"Do you think then that a man who has had such misfortune, should be
debarred the happiness which a second marriage could give him?"

"No, nor a woman either, if it suit her moral principle, which I hold
to be something peculiarly one's own."

"That seems to me to be a prejudice," he replied. "Prejudices may be
set aside by an effort of the will," catching at a glimmer of hope.

"There are some prejudices which a woman can't afford to part with,
Mr. Hosmer," she said a little haughtily, "even at the price of
happiness. Please say no more about it, think no more of it."

He seated himself again, facing her; and looking at him all her
sympathetic nature was moved at sight of his evident trouble.

"Tell me about it. I would like to know every thing in your life," she
said, feelingly.

"It's very good of you," he said, holding a hand for a moment over his
closed eyes. Then looking up abruptly, "It was a painful enough
experience, but I never dreamed that it could have had this last blow
in reserve for me."

"When did you marry?" she asked, wishing to start him with the story
which she fancied he would feel better for the telling.

"Ten years ago. I am a poor hand to analyze character: my own or
another's. My reasons for doing certain things have never been quite
clear to me; or I have never schooled myself to inquiry into my own
motives for action. I have been always thoroughly the business man. I
don't make a boast of it, but I have no reason to be ashamed of the
admission. Socially, I have mingled little with my fellow-beings,
especially with women, whose society has had little attraction for me;
perhaps, because I have never been thrown much into it, and I was
nearly thirty when I first met my wife."

"Was it in St. Loui