t in him was
philanthropic, and he had behaved with brutal ingratitude--like a
charity patient in the hospital, or a bad boy at Sunday School; so he
ought to yearn to come back--if she will kindly allow--and give her a
chance to go on reforming him or not, just as she pleases. I admitted
the purely speculative possibility that it might be otherwise--of a more
personal and commonplace description--just to encourage him a little;
but as he had said at the start that this chance was practically
nonexistent, I let him think so and dwelt on the other view, which was
new to him, and impressive. O, I preserved her dignity; that was the
first necessity. If he is cherishing any hopes of the vulgar, everyday
sort, he did not get them from me."

"And did he believe all that? If so, I must have been mistaken in the
man."

"He had to believe it. It was the simple truth: I merely arranged the
colors properly on his mental canvas. He thinks I am Solon and
Rhadamanthus and Nehemiah in one. How would you have done it perhaps,
when you had to hook your fish without letting him get the bait--induce
him to commit himself, and yet not commit her at all?"

"I don't know, brother. You could not have thrown her on his generosity,
of course; she would have killed herself and him and all of us, rather
than take happiness at such a price--and I can't blame her. Yet she
despises a subterfuge. I would not tell her the details if I were you;
she will not ask for them, nor want to hear them. It is a queer world:
when such things have to be done--sacrificing your best friend to insure
his welfare, deceiving him in the interest of one who abhors
deception--your eccentricities may be of more use than I had hitherto
supposed possible."

I pretended to be deeply pained at this; but in my heart I knew it was
high praise, coming from Jane. She is not like Clarice; she asked all
manner of questions, and kept me answering them three mortal hours.
Fortunately Mabel has less curiosity, or I should not have got much
sleep that night, after all my ill-appreciated labors. But I don't
regret what I did for Hartman; _he_ believes what you tell him.

XXXII.

CONFESSION.

Clarice was not at breakfast next day; but as I was going out, she met
me in the hall. "Robert, can you come back at four?"

"At any hour you wish, Princess; or I will stay now."

"No, that will be early enough. I will be in the library."

Now that is Clarice all over: she is her