reject his suit.
"Then, do I love him as I dreamed I could love?" she asked herself;
and her heart gave no intelligible reply. "Yes, it must be so; in his
presence I feel a tranquil and eloquent charm; his praise delights me;
his esteem is my most high ambition;--and yet--and yet--" she sighed and
thought of Legard; "but _he_ loved me not!" and she turned restlessly
from that image. "He thinks but of the world, of pleasure; Maltravers is
right,--the spoiled children of society cannot love: why should I think
of him?"

There were no guests at the villa, except Maltravers, Evelyn, and Lord
and Lady Doltimore. Evelyn was much captivated by the graceful vivacity
of Teresa, though that vivacity was not what it had been before her
brother's affliction; their children, some of whom had grown up,
constituted an amiable and intelligent family; and De Montaigne himself
was agreeable and winning, despite his sober manners and his love of
philosophical dispute. Evelyn often listened thoughtfully to Teresa's
praises of her husband,--to her account of the happiness she had known
in a marriage where there had been so great a disparity of years; Evelyn
began to question the truth of her early visions of romance.

Caroline saw the unequivocal attachment of Maltravers with the same
indifference with which she had anticipated the suit of Legard. It was
the same to her what hand delivered Evelyn and herself from the
designs of Vargrave; but Vargrave occupied nearly all her thoughts.
The newspapers had reported him as seriously ill,--at one time in great
danger. He was now recovering, but still unable to quit his room. He had
written to her once, lamenting his ill-fortune, trusting soon to be at
Paris; and touching, with evident pleasure, upon Legard's departure for
Vienna, which he had seen in the "Morning Post." But he was afar--alone,
ill, untended; and though Caroline's guilty love had been much abated
by Vargrave's icy selfishness, by absence and remorse, still she had the
heart of a woman,--and Vargrave was the only one that had ever touched
it. She felt for him, and grieved in silence; she did not dare to utter
sympathy aloud, for Doltimore had already given evidence of a suspicious
and jealous temper.

Evelyn was also deeply affected by the account of her guardian's
illness. As I before said, the moment he ceased to be her lover, her
childish affection for him returned. She even permitted herself to write
to him; and a tone of me