that nothing is any longer of any
interest?"

"The world has changed, certainly--with me."

"And with me also, Lady Harcourt. The world has changed with both of
us. But Fortune, while she has been crushing me, has been very kind
to you."

"Has she? Well, perhaps she has--as kind, at any rate, as I deserve.
But you may be sure of this--I do not complain of her." And then they
were again silent.

"I wonder whether you ever think of old days?" he said, after a
pause.

"At any rate, I never talk of them, Mr. Bertram."

"No; I suppose not. One should not talk of them. But out of a full
heart the mouth will speak. Constant thoughts will break forth in
words. There is nothing else left to me of which I can think."

Any one looking at her face as she answered him would have little
dreamed how much was passing through her mind, how much was weighing
on her heart. She commanded not only her features, but even her
colour, and the motion of her eyes. No anger flashed from them; there
was no blush of indignation as she answered him in that crowded room.
And yet her words were indignant enough, and there was anger, too, in
that low tone which reached his ear so plainly, but which reached no
further.

"And whose doing has this been? Why is it that I may not think of
past times? Why is it that all thought, all memories are denied to
me? Who was it that broke the cup at the very fountain?"

"Was it I?"

"Did you ever think of your prayers? 'Forgive us our trespasses.' But
you, in your pride--you could forgive nothing. And now you dare to
twit me with my fortune!"

"Lady Harcourt!"

"I will sit down, if you please, now. I do not know why I speak
thus." And then, without further words, she caused herself to be
led away, and sitting down between two old dowagers, debarred him
absolutely from the power of another word.

Immediately after this he left the house; but she remained for
another hour--remained and danced with young Lord Echo, who was a
Whig lordling; and with Mr. Twisleton, whose father was a Treasury
secretary. They both talked to her about Harcourt, and the great
speech he was making at that moment; and she smiled and looked
so beautiful, that when they got together at one end of the
supper-table, they declared that Harcourt was out-and-out the
luckiest dog of his day; and questioned his right to monopolize such
a treasure.

And had he been cruel? had he been unforgiving? had he denied to her
that pardon w