new dignity in his sight, a
subtly enhanced desirability. Unexpectedly her marble loveliness shot
him through and through, and he said in a low throbbing voice:

"You darling--darling! How can I bear to part from you like this?
Forgive me _now_, Carlisle ..."

But Carlisle's only response was to move away toward the hall.

A moment later the front door shut, rather hard. Carlisle's second
impassioned parting within an hour was over. She switched off the tall
newel-post lamp, and went upstairs in the dark.

* * * * *

She was a long time in going to sleep. Not since she had the fever, as a
little girl, was the great god of forgetfulness so elusive to her
wooing. Not since the night at the Beach, and never in her life before
that night, had the merry imps of thought so strung her brain upon a
thumbscrew. Now came Self-Communion, rarest of her comrades, and perched
upon her pillow.

All was plain now, by one instant of merciless illumination. She
sufficed to beguile Mr. Canning's leisure for an invalid sojourn far
from his normal haunts, but apart from that she had no existence for
him. He could see her daily, monopolize her time, for these things
happened to amuse him; he could make love to her, lead her in a hundred
subtle ways to feel that her companionship was sweet to him; and then he
could board a train and ride handsomely away, and woe is the word to the
conquered. And by this freedom that he felt, and in particular by the
license of his prodigal kisses, it appeared that she read the heart of
his secret opinion of her.

Never again should he show her this opinion, at least: he should board
his train with no more sight of her. On this her thought was
crystal-clear from the beginning. That such short shrift to Mr. Hugo
Canning was suicidally impolitic, she naturally had no difficulty in
realizing; the dread of reporting the affair to mamma had already shot
through her mind. But for the moment these things seemed oddly not to
matter. She was clearly in the grip of one of those mysterious
"flare-ups" which her mother disliked and objected to so intensely: to
such lengths borne by her recoil from Mr. Canning's familiarity. She had
met the common fate of beauty. Flaming young men had kissed her before
now. But none had kissed her without the desire of her love, none as the
fair price exacted for a couple of weeks' lordly attentions. By their
lightness, as by their passion, Canning's