ment, "and order Grunhut never to let another
visitor inside the door. Make me promise never to cross the threshold
alone--never to speak to another mortal but yourself! Cut off every
pleasure and every chance of pleasure I have; and then you may be, but
only may be, content."

"You're trying how far you can go with me."

"Do you want me to tell you again that dancing is one of the things I
love best? Not six months ago you knew and helped me to it yourself."

"Yes, THEN," he answered. "Then I could refuse you nothing."

She laughed in an unfriendly way. He pressed her hand to his forehead.
"You won't be so cruel, I know."

"You know more than I do."

"Do you realise what it means if you go?" In fancy, he was present, and
saw her passed from one pair of arms to another.

"I realise nothing--but that I am very unhappy."

"Have I no influence over you any more--none at all?"

"Can't you come, too, then?--if you are afraid to let me out of your
sight?"

"I? To see you----" He broke off with wrathful abruptness. "Thanks, I
would rather be shot." But at the mingled anger and blankness of her
face, he coloured. "Louise, put an end to all this. Marry me--now, at
once!"

"Marry you? I? No, thank you. We're past that stage, I think.--Besides,
are you so simple as to believe it would make any difference?"

"Oh, stop tormenting me. Come here!"--and he pulled her to him.

From this day forward, the direction of his thoughts was changed. The
incident of Herries's visit, her refusal to promise what he asked, and,
above all, the matter of the coming ball, with regard to which he could
not get certainty from her: these things seemed to open up nightmare
depths, to which he could see no bottom. Compared with them, the vague
fears which had hitherto troubled him were only shadows, and like
shadows faded away. He no longer sought out superfine reasons for their
lack of happiness. The past was dead and gone; he could not alter jot
or tittle of what had happened; he could only make the best of it. And
so he ceased to brood over it, and gave himself up to the present. The
future was a black, unknown quantity, but the present was his own. And
he would cling to it--for who knew what the future held in store for
him? In these days, he began to suspect that it was not in the nature
of things for her always to remain satisfied with him; and, ever more
daring, the horrid question reared its head: who will come after me?
Another bli