e with quiet dignity, and stood with an expectant air. Harry
also rose, and began to button his gloves, and as he did so, said:
"Surely, you will write to me! I do not hope for love letters, but
just sometimes a few kind, wise words! You will write, Yanna?"

"It would not be prudent. It would not be right."

"Prudent! Right! Oh, Yanna! How provoking you can be!"

"It would not be good form, then. Do you understand that better?"

"You will do nothing for me?"

She did not answer. She was very pale, her eyes were cast down, her
mouth trembled, her hand clasped nervously the back of the chair by
which she stood. She did not dare to look at Harry. He was so
troubled, so reproachful, so handsome.

"Will you at least shake hands, Yanna?" he asked, coming to her side.
Then she looked into his face, and he held her a moment to his heart,
as with kisses on her sweet, sad mouth, he murmured, "_Yanna! Yanna!_"
ere he went hastily away.

And as soon as he was gone, a quick realization of all she had lost,
or resigned, reproached her. The most beautiful points in Harry's
character came to the front--his love, his generous temper, his
kindness to women, his cheerfulness, his physical beauty and grace,
his fine manners! Oh, he had been in so many respects a most charming
lover! No other could ever fill his place. Even his fault towards her
had sprung from a virtue, and though in its development it showed him
to be lacking in just perceptions and strength of character, were
these indeed unpardonable faults?

This was the trend of her feeling in the first moments of her misery;
and it was followed by a sentiment very like anger. She sat still as
if turned into stone. All her life seemed to be suddenly behind her,
and her future only a blank darkness. "And it is my own fault!" she
thought passionately. "The bird that sang in my heart all summer long
has flown away; but it was my own hand that sent it out into the
world, and there, doubtless, some other woman, more loving and less
wise, will open her heart to its song. Alas! alas!" And a great wave
of love drifted her off her feet; she lost all control of her
feelings, and sobbed as despairingly as the weakest and most loving of
her sex could have done.

In the meantime, Harry was making himself utterly wretched in much the
same manner. The presence of a servant being intolerable, he sent his
man on a message to the express office, and then, as he drove
homeward, deliberately t