he next became
Horatian. Painfully sensitive, and proud withal, she was never sure of
his opinion of her. Having little faith in the firmness of any man's
admiration of _her_, she believed less than was avowed. And Fred,
exacting much, was too inexperienced to understand her. They were
drifting apart, I thought; but in avoiding Scylla, had I not plunged
into Charybdis?

I had been a widow a year when Mr. Christopher left Spain. Another had
now passed, and with it my seclusion. While Denis had talked to me, I
had cared to hear no other man speak; but now, in a kind of thirst, I
drank deep of pleasure. I played with the warm avowals of men past the
reasoning age, and made Fred's classmates melancholy. Denis did not even
disapprove. He was often near me now, but silent as a shadow.

How it stormed the night of the seventh of February, and like the
whirling snow I danced! Christopher led me through the last Lancers, and
then we stopped to rest. Hanging on his arm, and heedless of to-morrow,
was I not happy? We passed through the long rooms, while the soft waltz
music began to swell, and the untiring dancers took the floor.

I remember he asked for Leonora, and then if Fred meant to marry her. I
would not say no, but would acknowledge that his fancy was heated.

'She will be a pleasant vision of boy-love a few years hence,' I said.
'Leonora has too much good sense to marry him, Mr. Christopher.'

'I don't know,' said he, meditatively, and drew my hand through his arm.
The cornelian bracelet slipped into view. 'Mrs. Fontevrault,' uttered
he, in a ceremonious tone--my warm pulse grew still--'do you never
forget?'

'Do you desire it?' I answered, gaily:

''If to remember, or forget,
Can give a longing, or regret,

command me.'

He smiled, and, stopping at a side table, poured out two glasses of
wine.

'Here's to the past,' said he, eagerly; 'drink Lethe.'

We drained the glasses. Then I understood he withdrew his claim.

I wanted to go home after _that_; so Mr. Christopher summoned the
carriage. The walks were white, and I trembled--was it with cold?--as he
handed me in, and bade me good night.

The house at midnight was silent and warm. I went up stairs, and stood
in the threshold of the library. The sleet driving against the window
panes prevented their hearing me, I suppose. They seemed to be
translating something or other. Fred's arm lay over the back of her
chair. Very fast and earnestly he was talki