and how you please, because a word of
truth is so pleasant after living in a world of lies. I know you will
not lie to me, Harry. You never did."

He felt that now was the moment in which he should tell her of his
engagement, but he let the moment pass without using it. And, indeed, it
would have been hard for him to tell. In telling such a story he would
have been cautioning her that it was useless for her to love him--and
this he could not bring himself to do. And he was not sure even now that
she had not learned the fact from her sister. "I hope not," he said. In
all that he was saying he knew that his words were tame and impotent in
comparison with hers, which seemed to him to mean so much. But then his
position was so unfortunate! Had it not been for Florence Burton he
would have been long since at her feet; for, to give Harry Clavering his
due, he could be quick enough at swearing to a passion. He was one of
those men to whom love-making comes so readily that it is a pity that
they should ever marry. He was ever making love to women, usually
meaning no harm. He made love to Cecilia Burton over her children's
beds, and that discreet matron liked it. But it was a love-making
without danger. It simply signified on his part the pleasure he had in
being on good terms with a pretty woman. He would have liked to have
made love in the same way to Lady Ongar; but that was impossible, and in
all love-making with Lady Ongar there must be danger. There was a pause
after the expression of his last hopes, during which he finished his
tea, and then looked at his boots.

"You do not ask me what I have been doing at my country-house."

"And what have you been doing there?"

"Hating it."

"That is wrong."

"Everything is wrong that I do; everything must be wrong. That is the
nature of the curse upon me."

"You think too much of all that now."

"Ah, Harry, that is so easily said. People do not think of such things
if they can help themselves. The place is full of him and his memories;
full of him, though I do not as yet know whether he ever put his foot in
it. Do you know, I have a plan, a scheme, which would, I think, make me
happy for one half-hour. It is to give everything back to the family.
Everything! money, house, and name; to call myself Julia Brabazon, and
let the world call me what it pleases. Then I would walk out into the
streets, and beg some one to give me my bread. Is there one in all the
wide world that wo