ured him through the endless labyrinths of erotic
reverie.

Yet here was a woman who so loved him that not even a proud temper and
his candid indifference could impose restraint upon her emotions. As he
listened to the most significant of her words he was distressed with
shame, and now, in recalling them, he felt that he should have said
something, done something, to disillusion her. Could he not easily show
himself in a contemptible light? But reflection taught him that the
shame he had experienced on Marcella's behalf was blended with a
gratification which forbade him at the moment to be altogether
unamiable. It was not self-interest alone that prompted his use of her
familiar name. In the secret places of his heart he was thankful to her
for a most effective encouragement. She had confirmed him in the hope
that he was loved by Sidwell.

And now that he no longer feared her, Marcella was gradually dismissed
from mind. For a day or two he avoided the main streets of the town,
lest a chance meeting with her should revive disquietude; but, by the
time that Mrs. Warricombe's invitation permitted him once more to
follow his desire, he felt assured that Marcella was back in London,
and the sense of distance helped to banish her among unrealities.

The hours had never pressed upon him with such demand for resolution.
In the look with which Sidwell greeted him when he met her in the
drawing-room, he seemed to read much more than wonted friendliness; it
was as though a half secret already existed between them. But no
occasion offered for a word other than trivial. The dinner-party
consisted of about a score of people, and throughout the evening Peak
found himself hopelessly severed from the one person whose presence was
anything but an importunity to him. He maddened with jealousy, with
fear, with ceaseless mental manoeuvring. More than one young man of
agreeable aspect appeared to be on dangerous terms with Sidwell,
approaching her with that air of easy, well-bred intimacy which Godwin
knew too well he would never be able to assume in perfection. Again he
was humiliated by self-comparison with social superiors, and again
reminded that in this circle he had a place merely on sufferance. Mrs.
Warricombe, when he chanced to speak with her, betrayed the slight
regard in which she really held him, and Martin devoted himself to more
important people. The evening was worse than lost.

Yet in two more days Sidwell would be beyond