LITMIR.BIZ

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know me!"--that was a mood that well became her, and helped the work. She ought to have been an actress.

      "This must not go on," said Lady Blandish and Mrs. Doria in unison. A common object brought them together. They confined their talk to it, and did not disagree. Mrs. Doria engaged to go down to the baronet. Both ladies knew it was a dangerous, likely to turn out a disastrous, expedition. They agreed to it because it was something to do, and doing anything is better than doing nothing. "Do it," said the wise youth, when they made him a third, "do it, if you want him to be a hermit for life. You will bring back nothing but his dead body, ladies--a Hellenic, rather than a Roman, triumph. He will listen to you--he will accompany you to the station--he will hand you into the carriage--and when you point to his seat he will bow profoundly, and retire into his congenial mists."

      Adrian spoke their thoughts. They fretted; they relapsed.

      "Speak to him, you, Adrian," said Mrs. Doria. "Speak to the boy solemnly. It would be almost better he should go back to that little thing he has married."

      "Almost?" Lady Blandish opened her eyes. "I have been advising it for the last month and more."

      "A choice of evils," said Mrs. Doria's sour-sweet face and shake of the head.

      Each lady saw a point of dissension, and mutually agreed, with heroic effort, to avoid it by shutting their mouths. What was more, they preserved the peace in spite of Adrian's artifices.

      "Well, I'll talk to him again," he said. "I'll try to get the Engine on the conventional line."

      "Command him!" exclaimed Mrs. Doria.

      "Gentle means are, I think, the only means with Richard," said Lady Blandish.

      Throwing banter aside, as much as he could, Adrian spoke to Richard. "You want to reform this woman. Her manner is open--fair and free--the traditional characteristic. We won't stop to canvass how that particular honesty of deportment that wins your approbation has been gained. In her college it is not uncommon. Girls, you know, are not like boys. At a certain age they can't be quite natural. It's a bad sign if they don't blush, and fib, and affect this and that. It wears off when they're women. But a woman who speaks like a man, and has all those excellent virtues you admire--where has she learned the trick? She tells you. You don't surely approve of the school? Well, what is there in it, then? Reform her, of course. The task is worthy of your energies. But, if you are appointed to do it, don't do it publicly, and don't attempt it just now. May I ask you whether your wife participates in this undertaking?"

      Richard walked away from the interrogation. The wise youth, who hated long unrelieved speeches and had healed his conscience, said no more.

      Dear tender Lucy! Poor darling! Richard's eyes moistened. Her letters seemed sadder latterly. Yet she never called to him to come, or he would have gone. His heart leapt up to her. He announced to Adrian that he should wait no longer for his father. Adrian placidly nodded.

      The enchantress observed that her knight had a clouded brow and an absent voice.

      "Richard--I can't call you Dick now, I really don't know why"--she said, "I want to beg a favour of you."

      "Name it. I can still call you Bella, I suppose?"

      "If you care to. What I want to say is this: when you meet me out--to cut it short--please not to recognize me."

      "And why?"

      "Do you ask to be told that?"

      "Certainly I do."

      "Then look: I won't compromise you."

      "I see no harm, Bella."

      "No," she caressed his hand, "and there is none. I know that. But," modest eyelids were drooped, "other people do," struggling eyes were raised.

      "What do we care for other people?"

      "Nothing. I don't. Not that!" snapping her finger, "I care for you, though." A prolonged look followed the declaration.

      "You're foolish, Bella."

      "Not quite so giddy--that's all."

      He did not combat it with his usual impetuosity. Adrian's abrupt inquiry had sunk in his mind, as the wise youth intended it should. He had instinctively refrained from speaking to Lucy of this lady. But what a noble creature the woman was!

      So they met in the park; Mrs. Mount whipped past him; and secresy added a new sense to their intimacy.

      Adrian was gratified at the result produced by his eloquence.

      Though this lady never expressed an idea, Richard was not mistaken in her cleverness. She could make evenings pass gaily, and one was not the fellow to the other. She could make you forget she was a woman, and then bring the fact startlingly home to you. She could read men with one quiver of her half-closed eye-lashes. She could catch the coming mood in a man, and fit herself to it. What does a woman want with ideas, who can do thus much? Keenness of perception, conformity, delicacy of handling, these be all the qualities necessary to parasites.

      Love would have scared the youth: she banished it from her tongue. It may also have been true that it sickened her. She played on his higher nature. She understood spontaneously what would be most strange and taking to him in a woman. Various as the Serpent of old Nile, she acted fallen beauty, humorous indifference, reckless daring, arrogance in ruin. And acting thus, what think you?--She did it so well because she was growing half in earnest.

      "Richard! I am not what I was since I knew you. You will not give me up quite?"

      "Never, Bella."

      "I am not so bad as I'm painted!"

      "You are only unfortunate."

      "Now that I know you I think so, and yet I am happier."

      She told him her history when this soft horizon of repentance seemed to throw heaven's twilight across it. A woman's history, you know: certain chapters expunged. It was dark enough to Richard.

      "Did you love the man?" he asked. "You say you love no one now."

      "Did I love him? He was a nobleman and I a tradesman's daughter. No. I did not love him. I have lived to learn it. And now I should hate him, if I did not despise him."

      "Can you be deceived in love?" said Richard, more to himself than to her.

      "Yes. When we're young we can be very easily deceived. If there is such a thing as love, we discover it after we have tossed about and roughed it. Then we find the man, or the woman, that suits us:--and then it's too late! we can't have him."

      "Singular!" murmured Richard, "she says just what my father said."

      He spoke aloud: "I could forgive you if you had loved him."

      "Don't be harsh, grave judge! How is a girl to distinguish?"

      "You had some affection for him? He was the first?"

      She chose to admit that. "Yes. And the first who talks of love to a girl must be a fool if he doesn't blind her."

      "That makes what is called first love nonsense."

      "Isn't it?"

      He repelled the insinuation. "Because I know it is not, Bella."

      Nevertheless she had opened a wider view of the world to him, and a colder. He thought poorly of girls. A woman a sensible, brave, beautiful woman seemed, on comparison, infinitely nobler than those weak creatures.

      She was best in her character of lovely rebel accusing foul injustice. "What am I to do? You tell me to be different. How can I? What am I to do? Will virtuous people let me earn my bread? I could not get a housemaid's place! They wouldn't have

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