ss at her friend, replied, oddly: "I love
her, Doctor Vaughan, and I begin to understand her, I think."

"Do you?" smiling down upon her. "Then some day will you not interpret
her to me?"

Claire's answer was again given oddly, as, lifting her eyes to his
face, she said, quite gravely: "If it is necessary to do so, perhaps I
will."

Then conversation became general; rather Dr. Vaughan talked, and they
all listened.

Claire found herself thinking that Doctor Vaughan was a noble-looking
man; not alluringly handsome, as was Edward Percy; not possessing the
magnetic fascination that Madeline had described as belonging to
Lucian Davlin. But he had a fine face, nay, a grand face, full of
strength and sweetness; not devoid of beauty, but having in it
something infinitely better, truer, and more godlike than mere
physical beauty can impart to any face.

Then she thought of Madeline, of her loneliness, her sorrow, and her
need of just such a strong, gentle nature to lean upon, to look up to,
and to obey. "She would obey _him_," quoth Claire to herself.

Next she fell to watching Madeline, through half-closed eyelashes. She
saw how the girl listened to his every word; how, when his eyes were
not upon her, she seemed to devour him with a hungry, longing,
sorrowful gaze.

"As if she were taking leave of him forever," thought Claire.

And that is what Madeline was doing. When she came to the city, it was
with the determination to win the love of this man, if it could be
won; to let nothing stand between herself and the fulfillment of that
purpose. But all this had been changed, and seeing how bravely Claire
bore the shock of her lover's baseness, how proudly, how nobly, she
commanded herself, Madeline had abandoned her purpose.

"I am not worthy of him, and she is," she told herself.

When she declared that Claire should be happy, she bade farewell to
her own hope of future happiness. She would help him to win the girl
he loved, and then she would be content to die; aye, more than
content.

To-night, therefore, she was saying in her heart a farewell to this
man, who was so dear to her. She had almost hoped that she should not
meet him again for the present, and yet she was so glad to have seen
him once more. She was glad of his presence, yet fearful lest her good
resolution might be shaken. She would not let him be too kind to her,
rather let him think her ungrateful, anything--what could it matter
now?

"Shall you