s
being along with it. But love was not unalterable. The change would
surely come. The fever and folly, the exaltation and ardours would fade
into a sacred affection--an instinctive tenderness; yet other interests,
as vital, and in their season more absorbing, would flock into his life.
What then?

Pensee and Reckage did not exchange many words till they found
themselves alone, face to face, in the railway carriage bound for Dover.
Then they looked with wonder at each other, stupefied at the errand on
which they were bound, and the strangeness of the whole proceeding.
Reckage noticed that his companion was attired so correctly and with
such discretion that no one could have told she was a pretty woman. Her
veil was not unusually thick, yet it disguised every charm of expression
and feature. He had bought her a novel, some papers, and a few
magazines; she turned these over listlessly, and murmured, as the train
sped along--

"Of course, I had to come. No one will say a word when the circumstances
are known. I hope poor Renshaw is comfortable in the next carriage."

Reckage replied--

"You have behaved like an angel!"

He probably but half understood Pensee's character: he underrated her
intellect, and he misconstrued her friendship for Orange into a weak
infatuation. Agnes Carillon shared his view on this point, for, as he
and his future bride could never be confidential with each other, they
managed an appearance of intimacy by discussing with great freedom the
private affairs of their friends. Agnes, in the fervour of godliness,
had even seen much that was reprehensible in Lady Fitz Rewes's devotion
to a man who had no idea of marrying her. She had declared that she
could not understand it--an attitude pleasing to her fancy and
gratifying to her pride. Reckage had thought it was not quite clear that
the danger was immediate. Such was his feeling now toward Pensee,
although he was conscious of a certain curiosity with regard to her
motive in taking Brigit's part with such magnificent self-effacement.
This seemed to him unnatural; and although she had impressed him with
the highest opinion of her kindness, he could not believe that a woman
of genuinely tender sensibilities could have approached such an
altruistic height. She was an excellent creature--as creatures went, he
thought, but hard in a feeble way. Then he closed his eyes and called up
the elusive image of Sara de Treverell--very dark, very handsome, with