vain. Only
three days had elapsed since she stood beside him in the starlight,
beautiful and tranquil as the trust with which he had inspired her, and
told him that she was happy in the prospect of their marriage. What was
the meaning of the change? of what infernal potion had she tasted? Poor
Newman had a terrible apprehension that she had really changed. His very
admiration for her attached the idea of force and weight to her rupture.
But he did not rail at her as false, for he was sure she was unhappy.
In his walk he had crossed one of the bridges of the Seine, and he still
followed, unheedingly, the long, unbroken quay. He had left Paris behind
him, and he was almost in the country; he was in the pleasant suburb of
Auteuil. He stopped at last, looked around him without seeing or caring
for its pleasantness, and then slowly turned and at a slower pace
retraced his steps. When he came abreast of the fantastic embankment
known as the Trocadero, he reflected, through his throbbing pain,
that he was near Mrs. Tristram's dwelling, and that Mrs. Tristram, on
particular occasions, had much of a woman's kindness in her utterance.
He felt that he needed to pour out his ire and he took the road to
her house. Mrs. Tristram was at home and alone, and as soon as she had
looked at him, on his entering the room, she told him that she knew what
he had come for. Newman sat down heavily, in silence, looking at her.

"They have backed out!" she said. "Well, you may think it strange, but
I felt something the other night in the air." Presently he told her his
story; she listened, with her eyes fixed on him. When he had finished
she said quietly, "They want her to marry Lord Deepmere." Newman stared.
He did not know that she knew anything about Lord Deepmere. "But I don't
think she will," Mrs. Tristram added.

"SHE marry that poor little cub!" cried Newman. "Oh, Lord! And yet, why
did she refuse me?"

"But that isn't the only thing," said Mrs. Tristram. "They really
couldn't endure you any longer. They had overrated their courage. I must
say, to give the devil his due, that there is something rather fine
in that. It was your commercial quality in the abstract they couldn't
swallow. That is really aristocratic. They wanted your money, but they
have given you up for an idea."

Newman frowned most ruefully, and took up his hat again. "I thought you
would encourage me!" he said, with almost childlike sadness.

"Excuse me," she answered v