LITMIR.BIZ

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stood.

      When the dance was over he led Laura out and took one turn through the rooms, making a few commonplace remarks on the way. Coming back, he stopped as though by accident close to Lord Herbert.

      "I am afraid you will think me very rude if I ask you to let me leave you," he said. "I am engaged for the next dance—it is a quadrille—and I must find a vis-à-vis."

      Arden of course heard and presented himself immediately in Ghisleri's place. Laura was quite ready to go back with him to the sofa in the corner, and they resumed their conversation almost at the point at which it had been interrupted by Francesco Savelli. Neither of them ever knew that Ghisleri had brought them together again by a little social skill, just beyond what most people possess. Arden looked after him, half believing that he had only given Laura an excuse for leaving her in order to return to the Contessa dell' Armi, who was now surrounded by half a dozen men, beginning with old Spicca, who, as has been said, was still alive in those days, and ending with the little Vicomte de Bompierre, a young French attaché with a pleasant voice, a bright smile, and an incipient black moustache. But to Arden's surprise Ghisleri took quite a different direction, and began to speak to one man after another, evidently trying to secure a vis-à-vis for the square dance.

      "You must not let me bore you, or rather you must not bore yourself with me," said Arden to Laura, after a short pause in the conversation. "You are altogether much too good to me."

      "You never bore me," answered the young girl. "You are one of the few people who do not."

      Arden smiled a little sadly.

      "I am glad to be one of the 'few people,'" he said, "even if I am the last."

      "You are too modest." She tried to laugh, but the effort was not very successful.

      "No, I am not. I have much more vanity than you would suppose, or think possible, considering how little I have to be vain of."

      "Opinions may differ about that," answered Laura, looking into his eyes. "You have much that many men might envy, and probably do."

      "What, for instance?"

      Laura hesitated, and then smiled, without effort this time.

      "You are very good looking," she said after a moment.

      "No one has ever told me that before," he answered. A very slight flush rose in his pale face.

      "It is not of much importance, either. Would you like me to enumerate your good qualities?"

      "Of all things!"

      "You are honest and kind, and you are very clever, I think, though I am not clever enough to be sure. You have no right to be unhappy, and you would not be if you were not so sensitive about—about not being so strong and big as some men are. What difference does it make?"

      "You will almost tempt me to think that it makes none, if you talk in that way," said Arden.

      "Do you mean to say that you would really and truly change places with any one? With Signor Ghisleri, for instance?"

      "Indeed I would, with him, and very gladly. I would rather be Ghisleri than any man I know."

      "I cannot understand that," answered Laura, thoughtfully. "If I were a man, I would much rather be like you. Besides, they say Signor Ghisleri has been dreadfully wild, and is anything but angelic now. You used that very word about him the first evening we met; do you remember?"

      "Of course I do; but what has that to do with it? Must I necessarily choose a saint for my friend, and pick out one to exchange places with me if it were possible? A woman saint may be lovable, too lovable perhaps, but a man saint about town is like a fish out of water. But you are right about Ghisleri, up to a certain point, only you do not understand him. He is an exceedingly righteous sinner, but a sinner he is."

      "What do you mean by a righteous sinner?" asked Laura, gravely.

      "Do not bring me down to definitions. I have not at all a logical mind. I mean Ghisleri—that is all I can say. I would much rather talk about you."

      "No, I object to that. Tell me, since you wish so much to be Signor Ghisleri, what do you think you would feel if you were?"

      "What he feels—everything that a man can feel!" answered Arden, with a sudden change of tone. "To be straight and strong and a match for other men. Half the happiness of life lies there."

      His voice shook a little, and Laura felt that the tears were almost in her eyes as she looked earnestly into his.

      "You see what I am," he continued, more and more bitterly, "I am a cripple. There is no denying it—why should I even try to hide it a little? Nature, or Heaven, or what you please to call it, has been good enough to make concealment impossible. If I am not quite a hunchback, I am very near it, and I can hardly walk even with a stick. And look at yourself, straight and graceful and beautiful—well, you pity me, at least. Why should I make a fool of myself? It is the first time I ever spoke like this to any one."

      "You are quite wrong," answered Laura, in a tone of conviction. "I do not pity you—indeed I do not think you are the least to be pitied. I see it quite differently. It hardly ever strikes me that you are not just the same as other people, and when it does—I do not know—I mean to say that when it does, it makes no painful impression upon me. You see I am quite frank."

      While she was speaking the colour rose in two bright spots on Arden's pale cheeks, and his bright eyes softened with a look of wonderful happiness.

      "Are you quite in earnest, Miss Carlyon?" he asked, in a low voice.

      "Quite, quite in earnest. Please believe me when I say that it would hurt me dreadfully if I thought you doubted it."

      "Hurt you? Why?"

      She turned her deep, sad eyes to him, and looked at him without speaking. He was on the point of telling her that he loved her—then he saw how beautiful she was, and he felt his withered knee under his hand, and he was ashamed to speak. It was a cruel moment, and his nerves were already overstrained by perpetual emotion, as well as tired from late hours and lack of sleep. He hesitated a moment. Then bent his head and covered his eyes with his hand. Laura said nothing for several moments, but seeing that he did not move, she touched his sleeve.

      "Dear Lord Herbert, do not be so unhappy," she said softly. "You really have no right to be, you know."

      "No right?" He looked up suddenly. "If you knew, you would not say that."

      "I should always say it. As long as you have friends—friends who love you, and would do anything for you, why should you make yourself so miserable?"

      "I want more than a friend—even than friendship."

      "What?"

      "I want love."

      Again she gazed into his eyes and paused. Her face was very white—whiter than his. Then she spoke.

      "Are you so sure you have not got that love?" she asked. Her own voice trembled now.

      Arden started and a look of something almost like fear came into his face. He could hardly speak.

      "Love?" he repeated, and he felt he could say nothing more.

      "Yes, I mean it." So she chose her fate.

      She thought there was a touch of the divine in poor Arden's expression as he heard the words. Then his face grew pale, the light faded from his eyes, and his head sank on his breast. Laura did not at first realise what had happened. She felt so strongly herself, that nothing in his manner would have surprised her. She heard nothing of the hum of the voices in the room, or if she did, she heard the harmony of a happy hymn, and the great branches of candles were the tapers upon an altar in some sacred place.

      Still Arden did not move. Laura bent down and looked at his face.

      "Lord Herbert!" She called him softly. "Herbert, what is the matter?"

      No

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