if this was how people usually
felt after such a wonderful incident--a thing that had happened quite
without demonstration, which nobody could ever know of, yet which made
as much change in him as if he had been sentenced to death. Sentenced to
death! that was what it felt like more or less. It had happened, and
could never be undone, and he walked away and away, but never got beyond
it, with the chain always round his neck. When he got into the streets
where nobody took any notice of him, it struck him with surprise, almost
offence. Was it possible that they did not see that something had
happened--a mystery, something that would never be shaken off but with
life?

He met Jock as he walked, and without stopping gave him a sort of
ghastly smile, and said, "You were right; she likes that best," and went
on again, with a sense that he might go on for ever like the wandering
Jew, and never get beyond the wonder and the pain.

And there is no doubt that Bice was glad to hear Montjoie's laugh, and
the nonsense he talked, and to throw off that sudden impression which
had frightened her. What was it? Something which was in life, but which
she had not met with before. "We are to have it all our own way, don't
you know?" Montjoie said. "I have no people, to call people, and she is
not going to interfere. We shall have it all our own way, and have a
good time, as the Yankees say. And I am not going to call you Bice,
which is a silly sort of name, and spells quite different from its
pronunciation. What are you holding back for? You have no call to be shy
with me now. Bee, you belong to me now, don't you know?" the young
fellow said, with demonstrations from which Bice shrunk a little. She
liked, yes, his way; but, but yet--she was perhaps a little savage, as
the Contessa said.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE LAST BLOW.

Lucy stood out stoutly to the last gasp. She did not betray herself,
except by the paleness, the seriousness which she could not banish from
her countenance. Her guests thought that Lady Randolph must be ill, that
she was disguising a bad headache, or even something more serious, under
the smile with which she received them. "I am sure you ought to be in
bed," the older ladies said, and when they took their leave of her,
after their congratulations as to the success of the evening, they all
repeated this in various tones. "I am sure you are quite worn out; I
shall send in the morning to ask how you are," the Du