sh and of
carelessness--note of the well-dressed Englishman.

"We cannot talk it over," rejoined Irene. "I have nothing to
say--except that I take blame and shame to myself, and that I entreat
your forgiveness."

Under his steady eye, his good-humoured, watchful mastery, she was
growing restive.

"I was in doubt whether to come to-day," said Jacks, in a reflective
tone. "I thought at first of sending a note, and postponing our
meeting. I understood so perfectly the state of mind in which you
wrote--the natural result of most painful events. The fact is, I am
guilty of bad taste in seeming to treat it lightly; you have suffered
very much, and won't be yourself for some days. But, after all, it
isn't as if one had to do with the ordinary girl. To speak frankly I
thought it was the kindest thing to come--so I came."

Nothing Arnold had ever said to her had so appealed to Irene's respect
as this last sentence. It had the ring of entire sincerity; it was
quite simply spoken; it soothed her nerves.

"Thank you," she answered with a grateful look. "You did right. I could
not have borne it--if you had just written and put it off. Indeed, I
could not have borne it."

Arnold changed his attitude; he bent forward, his arms across his
knees, so as to be nearer to her.

"Do you think _I_ should have had an easy time?"

"I reproach myself more than I can tell you. But you must
understand--you _must_ believe that I mean what I am saying!" Her voice
began to modulate. "It is not only the troubles we have gone through. I
have seen it coming--the moment when I should write that letter.
Through cowardice, I have put it off. It was very unjust to you; you
have every right to condemn my behaviour; I am unpardonable. And yet I
hope--I do so hope--that some day you will pardon me."

In the man's eyes she had never been so attractive, so desirable, so
essentially a woman. The mourning garb became her, for it was moulded
upon her figure, and gave effect to the admirably pure tone of her
complexion. Her beauty, in losing its perfect healthfulness, gained a
new power over the imagination; the heavy eyes suggested one knew not
what ideal of painters and poets; the lips were more sensuous since
they had lost their mocking smile. All passion of which Arnold Jacks
was capable sounded in the voice with which he now spoke.

"I shall never pardon you, because I shall never feel you have injured
me. Say to me what you want to say. I will lis