e and more resolved that she shall have the very finest going, or
that she shall have nothing, in respect of all which belongs to her
special province--in regard to love and marriage. In them she shall
have what Cousin Katherine has had, and find what Cousin Katherine has
found, or all that shall be a shut book to her forever. Even if
discipline and denial make her a little unhappy, poor thing, that's far
better than letting her decline upon the second best."

Honoria's voice was full and sweet. She spoke from out the deep places
of her thought. Her whole aspect was instinct with a calm and seasoned
enthusiasm. And, looking upon her, it became Ludovic Quayle's turn to
find the evening wind somewhat bleak and barren. It struck chill, and
he turned away and moved westwards towards the sunset. But the
rose-crimson splendours had become faint and frail, while the indigo
cloud had gathered into long, horizontal lines as of dusky smoke, so
that the remaining brightness was seen as through prison bars. A
sadness, indeed, seemed to hold the west, even greater than that which
held the east, since it was a sadness not of beauty unborn, but of
beauty dead. And this struck home to the young man. He did not care to
speak. Miss St. Quentin walked beside him in silence, for a time. When
at last she spoke it was very gently.

"Please don't be angry with me," she pleaded. "I like you so much
that--that I'd give a great deal to be able to think less of my duty to
the tiresome woman in me."

"I would give a great deal too," he declared, regardless of grammar.

"But I'm not the only woman in the world, dear Mr. Quayle," she
protested presently.

"But I, unfortunately, have no use for any other," he returned.

"Ah, you distress me!" Honoria cried.

"Well, I don't know that you make me superabundantly cheerful," he
answered.

Just then the far-away shriek of a locomotive and dull thunder of an
approaching train was heard. Mr. Quayle looked once more towards the
western horizon.

"Here's the Paris-express!" he said. "We must be off if we mean to get
round before our horse-box is shunted."

He jumped down on to the permanent way. Miss St. Quentin followed him,
and the two ran helter-skelter across the many lines of metals, in the
direction of the Culoz-Geneva-Bale siding. That somewhat childish and
undignified proceeding ministered to the restoration of good
fellowship.

"Great passions are rare," Mr. Quayle said, laughing a litt