sted him. He saw her as the best product of this convention.

She was no mere sentimental girl, for she had known at least six
seasons, and had refused at least six lovers. She had a proud mind, not
wide, suited to her position. Most men had flattered her, had yielded to
her; this man, either with art or instinctively, mastered her, secured
her interest by his personality. Every woman worth the having, down in
her heart, loves to be mastered: it gives her a sense of security, and
she likes to lean; for, strong as she may be at times, she is often
singularly weak. She knew that her mother deprecated "that Belward
enigma," but this only sent her on the dangerous way.

To-night she questioned him about his life, and how he should spend the
summer. Idling in France, he said. And she? She was not sure; but she
thought that she also would be idling about France in her father's
yacht. So they might happen to meet. Meanwhile? Well, meanwhile, there
were people coming to stay at Peppingham, their home. August would see
that over. Then freedom.

Was it freedom, to get away from all this--from England and rule and
measure? No, she did not mean quite that. She loved the life with all
its rules; she could not live without it. She had been brought up to
expect and to do certain things. She liked her comforts, her luxuries,
many pretty things about her, and days without friction. To travel? Yes,
with all modern comforts, no long stages, a really good maid, and some
fresh interesting books.

What kind of books? Well, Walter Pater's essays; "The Light of Asia";
a novel of that wicked man Thomas Hardy; and something light--"The
Innocents Abroad"--with, possibly, a struggle through De Musset, to keep
up her French.

It did not seem exciting to Gaston, but it did sound honest, and it was
in the picture. He much preferred Meredith, and Swinburne, and Dumas,
and Hugo; but with her he did also like the whimsical Mark Twain.

He thought of suggestions that Lady Belward had often thrown out; of
those many talks with Sir William, excellent friends as they were, in
which the baronet hinted at the security he would feel if there was
a second family of Belwards. What if he--? He smiled strangely, and
shrank.

Marriage? There was the touchstone.

After the dance, when he was taking her to her mother, he saw a pale
intense face looking out to him from a row of others. He smiled, and
the smile that came in return was unlike any he had ever se