one but yourself
could do it?"

It was a strange way of putting his case: he was aware of it before he
ended. But it had not occurred to him to tell her that she was lovely
and desirable--in his humility he thought that what he had to give would
plead for him better than what he was.

The effect produced on her by his question, though undecipherable, was
extraordinary. She stiffened a little, remaining quite motionless, her
eyes on the street.

"_You!_" she just breathed; and he saw that she was beginning to
tremble.

His wooing had been harsh and clumsy--he was afraid it had offended her,
and his hand trembled too as it sought hers.

"I only thought--it would be a dull business to most women--and I'm tied
to it for life...but I thought...I've seen so often how you pity
suffering...how you long to relieve it...."

She turned away from him with a shuddering sigh. "Oh, I _hate_
suffering!" she broke out, raising her hands to her face.

Amherst was frightened. How senseless of him to go on reiterating the
old plea! He ought to have pleaded for himself--to have let the man in
him seek her and take his defeat, instead of beating about the flimsy
bush of philanthropy.

"I only meant--I was trying to make my work recommend me..." he said
with a half-laugh, as she remained silent, her eyes still turned away.

The silence continued for a long time--it stretched between them like a
narrowing interminable road, down which, with a leaden heart, he seemed
to watch her gradually disappearing. And then, unexpectedly, as she
shrank to a tiny speck at the dip of the road, the perspective was
mysteriously reversed, and he felt her growing nearer again, felt her
close to him--felt her hand in his.

"I'm really just like other women, you know--I shall like it because
it's your work," she said.

XXXII

EVERY one agreed that, on the whole, Mr. Langhope had behaved extremely
well.

He was just beginning to regain his equanimity in the matter of the
will--to perceive that, in the eyes of the public, something important
and distinguished was being done at Westmore, and that the venture,
while reducing Cicely's income during her minority, might, in some
incredible way, actually make for its ultimate increase. So much Mr.
Langhope, always eager to take the easiest view of the inevitable, had
begun to let fall in his confidential comments on Amherst; when his
newly-regained balance was rudely shaken by the news of his son