had not accepted her grandmother's
offer from interested motives.

She had the heedless generosity and the spasmodic extravagance of
persons used to large fortunes, and indifferent to money; but she could
go without many things which her relations considered indispensable,
and Mrs. Lovell Mingott and Mrs. Welland had often been heard to
deplore that any one who had enjoyed the cosmopolitan luxuries of Count
Olenski's establishments should care so little about "how things were
done." Moreover, as Archer knew, several months had passed since her
allowance had been cut off; yet in the interval she had made no effort
to regain her grandmother's favour. Therefore if she had changed her
course it must be for a different reason.

He did not have far to seek for that reason. On the way from the ferry
she had told him that he and she must remain apart; but she had said it
with her head on his breast. He knew that there was no calculated
coquetry in her words; she was fighting her fate as he had fought his,
and clinging desperately to her resolve that they should not break
faith with the people who trusted them. But during the ten days which
had elapsed since her return to New York she had perhaps guessed from
his silence, and from the fact of his making no attempt to see her,
that he was meditating a decisive step, a step from which there was no
turning back. At the thought, a sudden fear of her own weakness might
have seized her, and she might have felt that, after all, it was better
to accept the compromise usual in such cases, and follow the line of
least resistance.

An hour earlier, when he had rung Mrs. Mingott's bell, Archer had
fancied that his path was clear before him. He had meant to have a
word alone with Madame Olenska, and failing that, to learn from her
grandmother on what day, and by which train, she was returning to
Washington. In that train he intended to join her, and travel with her
to Washington, or as much farther as she was willing to go. His own
fancy inclined to Japan. At any rate she would understand at once
that, wherever she went, he was going. He meant to leave a note for
May that should cut off any other alternative.

He had fancied himself not only nerved for this plunge but eager to
take it; yet his first feeling on hearing that the course of events was
changed had been one of relief. Now, however, as he walked home from
Mrs. Mingott's, he was conscious of a growing distaste for w