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left the room.

      “I wonder,” he said, as he crossed the landing, “whether, by judiciously losing my way, I can catch a glimpse of that girl who is like a golden idol?”

      Downstairs, on his way to the door, he saw Agatha coming towards him, occupied with a book which she was tossing up to the ceiling and catching. Her melancholy expression, habitual in her lonely moments, showed that she was not amusing herself, but giving vent to her restlessness. As her gaze travelled upward, following the flight of the volume, it was arrested by Smilash. The book fell to the floor. He picked it up and handed it to her, saying:

      “And, in good time, here is the golden idol!”

      “What?” said Agatha, confused.

      “I call you the golden idol,” he said. “When we are apart I always imagine your face as a face of gold, with eyes and teeth of bdellium, or chalcedony, or agate, or any wonderful unknown stones of appropriate colors.”

      Agatha, witless and dumb, could only look down deprecatingly.

      “You think you ought to be angry with me, and you do not know exactly how to make me feel that you are so. Is that it?”

      “No. Quite the contrary. At least — I mean that you are wrong. I am the most commonplace person you can imagine — if you only knew. No matter what I may look, I mean.”

      “How do you know that you are commonplace?”

      “Of course I know,” said Agatha, her eyes wandering uneasily.

      “Of course you do not know; you cannot see yourself as others see you. For instance, you have never thought of yourself as a golden idol.”

      “But that is absurd. You are quite mistaken about me.”

      “Perhaps so. I know, however, that your face is not really made of gold and that it has not the same charm for you that it has for others — for me.”

      “I must go,” said Agatha, suddenly in haste.

      “When shall we meet again?”

      “I don’t know,” she said, with a growing sense of alarm. “I really must go.”

      “Believe me, your hurry is only imaginary. Do you fancy that you are behaving in a manner of quite ubdued ardor that affected Agatha strangely.

      “But first tell me whether it is new to you or not.”

      “It is not an emotion at all. I did not say that it was.”

      “Do not be afraid of it. It is only being alone with a man whom you have bewitched. You would be mistress of the situation if you only knew how to manage a lover. It is far easier than managing a horse, or skating, or playing the piano, or half a dozen other feats of which you think nothing.”

      Agatha colored and raised her head.

      “Forgive me,” he said, interrupting the action. “I am trying to offend you in order to save myself from falling in love with you, and I have not the heart to let myself succeed. On your life, do not listen to me or believe me. I have no right to say these things to you. Some fiend enters into me when I am at your side. You should wear a veil, Agatha.”

      She blushed, and stood burning and tingling, her presence of mind gone, and her chief sensation one of relief to hear — for she did not dare to see — that he was departing. Her consciousness was in a delicious confusion, with the one definite thought in it that she had won her lover at last. The tone of Trefusis’s voice, rich with truth and earnestness, his quick insight, and his passionate warning to her not to heed him, convinced her that she had entered into a relation destined to influence her whole life.

      “And yet,” she said remorsefully, “I cannot love him as he loves me. I am selfish, cold, calculating, worldly, and have doubted until now whether such a thing as love really existed. If I could only love him recklessly and wholly, as he loves me!”

      Smilash was also soliloquizing as he went on his way.

      “Now I have made the poor child — who was so anxious that I should not mistake her for a supernaturally gifted and lovely woman as happy as an angel; and so is that fine girl whom they call Jane Carpenter. I hope they won’t exchange confidences on the subject.”

      CHAPTER VIII

       Table of Contents

      Mrs. Trefusis found her parents so unsympathetic on the subject of her marriage that she left their house shortly after her visit to Lyvern, and went to reside with a hospitable friend. Unable to remain silent upon the matter constantly in her thoughts, she discussed her husband’s flight with this friend, and elicited an opinion that the behavior of Trefusis was scandalous and wicked. Henrietta could not bear this, and sought shelter with a relative. The same discussion arising, the relative said:

      “Well, Hetty, if I am to speak candidly, I must say that I have known Sidney Trefusis for a long time, and he is the easiest person to get on with I ever met. And you know, dear, that you are very trying sometimes.”

      “And so,” cried Henrietta, bursting into tears, “after the infamous way he has treated me I am to be told that it is all my own fault.”

      She left the house next day, having obtained another invitation from a discreet lady who would not discuss the subject at all. This proved quite intolerable, and Henrietta went to stay with her uncle Daniel Jansenius, a jolly and indulgent man. He opined that things would come right as soon as both parties grew more sensible; and, as to which of them was, in fault, his verdict was, six of one and half a dozen of the other. Whenever he saw his niece pensive or tearful he laughed at her and called her a grass widow. Henrietta found that she could endure anything rather than this. Declaring that the world was hateful to her, she hired a furnished villa in St. John’s Wood, whither she moved in December. But, suffering much there from loneliness, she soon wrote a pathetic letter to Agatha, entreating her to spend the approaching Christmas vacation with her, and promising her every luxury and amusement that boundless affection could suggest and boundless means procure. Agatha’s reply contained some unlooked-for information.

      “Alton College, Lyvern,

      “14th December.

      “Dearest Hetty: I don’t think I can do exactly what you want, as I must spend Xmas with Mamma at Chiswick; but I need not get there until Xmas Eve, and we break up here on yesterday week, the 20th. So I will go straight to you and bring you with me to Mamma’s, where you will spend Xmas much better than moping in a strange house. It is not quite settled yet about my leaving the college after this term. You must promise not to tell anyone; but I have a new friend here — a lover. Not that I am in love with him, though I think very highly of him — you know I am not a romantic fool; but he is very much in love with me; and I wish I could return it as he deserves. The French say that one person turns the cheek and the other kisses it. It has not got quite so far as that with us; indeed, since he declared what he felt he has only been able to snatch a few words with me when I have been skating or walking. But there has always been at least one word or look that meant a great deal.

      “And now, who do you think he is? He says he knows you. Can you guess? He says you know all his secrets. He says he knows your husband well; that he treated you very badly, and that you are greatly to be pitied. Can you guess now? He says he has kissed you — for shame, Hetty! Have you guessed yet? He was going to tell me something more when we were interrupted, and I have not seen him since except at a distance. He is the man with whom you eloped that day when you gave us all such a fright — Mr. Sidney. I was the first to penetrate his disguise; and that very morning I had taxed him with it, and he had confessed it. He said then that he was hiding from a woman who was in love with him; and I should not be surprised if it turned out to be true; for he is wonderfully original — in fact what makes me like him is that he is by far the cleverest man I have ever met; and yet he thinks nothing of himself. I cannot imagine what he sees in me to care for, though

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