her ears.

"And as I before remarked, my good fellow," the voice was saying, "I am
not a disciple of the semi-obscure. If a man has a thought which is
worth declaring, let him declare it with a free and noble
utterance--don't let him wrap it up in multifarious parcels of dreary
verbosity! There's too much of that kind of thing going on nowadays--in
England, at least. There's a kind of imitation of art which isn't art at
all,--a morbid, bilious, bad imitation. You only get close to the real
goddess in Italy. I wish I could persuade you to come and pass the
winter with me there?"

It was Beau Lovelace who spoke, and he was talking to George Lorimer.
The two had met in Paris,--Lovelace was on his way to London, where a
matter of business summoned him for a few days, and Lorimer, somewhat
tired of the French capital, decided to return with him. And here they
were,--just arrived at Charing Cross,--and they walked across the
station arm in arm, little imagining who watched them from behind the
shelter of one of the waiting-room doors, with a yearning sorrow in her
grave blue eyes. They stopped almost opposite to her to light their
cigars,--she saw Lorimer's face quite distinctly, and heard his answer
to Lovelace.

"Well, I'll see what I can do about it, Beau! You know my mother always
likes to get away from London in winter--but whether we ought to inflict
ourselves upon you,--you being a literary man too--"

"Nonsense, you won't interfere in the least with the flow of inky
inspiration," laughed Beau. "And as for your mother, I'm in love with
her, as you are aware! I admire her almost as much as I do Lady
Bruce-Errington--and that's saying a great deal! By-the-by, if Phil can
get through his share of this country's business, he might do worse than
bring his beautiful Thelma to the Lake of Como for a while. I'll ask
him!"

And having lit their Havannas successfully, they walked on and soon
disappeared. For one instant Thelma felt strongly inclined to run after
them, like a little forlorn child that had lost its way,--and,
unburdening herself of all her miseries to the sympathetic George,
entreat, with tears, to be taken back to that husband who did not want
her any more. But she soon overcame this emotion,--and calling to mind
the instructions of the official personage whose advice she had sought,
she hurried out of the huge, brilliantly lit station, and taking a
hansom, was driven, as she requested, to the Midland. Her