pages on his desk; and in
the sudden realization of what they meant he could almost fancy some
alchemistic process changing them to gold as he stared. He had the
sense of not being alone in the room, of the presence of another self
observing from without the stirring of subconscious impulses that sent
flushes of humiliation to his forehead. At length he stood up, and
with the gesture of a man who wishes to give outward expression to his
purpose--to establish, as it were, a moral alibi--swept the letters into
a heap and carried them toward the grate. But it would have taken too
long to burn all the packets. He turned back to the table and one by one
fitted the pages into their envelopes; then he tied up the letters and
put them back into the locked drawer.

III

It was one of the laws of Glennard's intercourse with Miss Trent that
he always went to see her the day after he had resolved to give her up.
There was a special charm about the moments thus snatched from the
jaws of renunciation; and his sense of their significance was on
this occasion so keen that he hardly noticed the added gravity of her
welcome.

His feeling for her had become so vital a part of him that her nearness
had the quality of imperceptibly readjusting his point of view, so
that the jumbled phenomena of experience fell at once into a rational
perspective. In this redistribution of values the sombre retrospect
of the previous evening shrank to a mere cloud on the edge of
consciousness. Perhaps the only service an unloved woman can render the
man she loves is to enhance and prolong his illusions about her rival.
It was the fate of Margaret Aubyn's memory to serve as a foil to Miss
Trent's presence, and never had the poor lady thrown her successor into
more vivid relief.

Miss Trent had the charm of still waters that are felt to be renewed
by rapid currents. Her attention spread a tranquil surface to the
demonstrations of others, and it was only in days of storm that one felt
the pressure of the tides. This inscrutable composure was perhaps her
chief grace in Glennard's eyes. Reserve, in some natures, implies merely
the locking of empty rooms or the dissimulation of awkward encumbrances;
but Miss Trent's reticence was to Glennard like the closed door to the
sanctuary, and his certainty of divining the hidden treasure made him
content to remain outside in the happy expectancy of the neophyte.

"You didn't come to the opera last night," she