me remembrance of your saying to me at Tankerton that
you wished to speak to Professor Stepton with regard to a certain matter.
I may be wrong in my recollection. If, however, I am right, I now beg
you not to speak to the professor. I have, of course, the very highest
regard for his discretion; nevertheless, one must not be selfish. One
must not think only of one's self. I have obligations to others, and I
fear, when we were together at Tankerton, I forgot them. A word of
assurance from you that Professor Stepton knows nothing of our
conversation will set at rest the mind of

Yours sincerely,

_Marcus Harding._

As soon as he had read this communication, Malling realized that he
had been right in his supposition that a new reserve was growing up
in Henry Chichester. He was aware of Chichester's reserve in the letter
of the rector. He was aware, too, of the latter's situation as he had
never been aware of it before. Often a trifle illuminates a life, as a
search-light brings some distant place from the darkness into a fierce
radiance that makes it seem near. So it was now.

"Poor Harding!" thought Malling, with an unusual softness. "But this
letter comes too late."

What answer should he return to the rector? He hated insincerity, but on
this occasion he stooped to it. He had not only the fear of Stepton upon
him; he had also the desire not to add to the deep misery of Marcus
Harding. This was his answer:

_Cadogan Square_, June --.

_Dear Mr. Harding:_

In reply to your letter, I will not now repeat our conversation of the
other evening to Professor Stepton. He is, as you say, a man of the
highest discretion, and should you feel inclined yourself to take him
into your confidence at any time, I think you will not regret it.

Yours sincerely,

_Evelyn Malling_.

As he put this note into an envelope, Malling said to himself:

"Some day I'll let him know I deceived him; I'll let him know I had
already told the professor."

Two or three days later Malling heard of the professor having been at a
party in Piccadilly at which Lady Sophia was a guest.

"And do you know, really,"--Malling's informant, a lively married woman,
concluded,--"those old scientific men are quite as bad as any of the boys
who only want to have a good time. The professor sat in Lady Sophia's
pocket the whole evening! Literally in her pocket!"

"I didn't know modern women had pockets," returned Malling.

"They don't, of course; but you