eply. 'You will wear your poor
eyes out,' he said, with more sentiment than he had hitherto shown. 'You
ought not to do it. There was a time when I should have said you must
not. Well--I almost wish I had never seen light with my own eyes when I
think of that!'

'Is this a time or place for recalling such matters?' she asked, with
dignity. 'You used to have a gentlemanly respect for me, and for
yourself. Don't speak any more as you have spoken, and don't come again.
I cannot think that this visit is serious, or was closely considered by
you.'

'Considered: well, I came to see you as an old and good friend--not to
mince matters, to visit a woman I loved. Don't be angry! I could not
help doing it, so many things brought you into my mind . . . This evening
I fell in with an acquaintance, and when I saw how happy he was with his
wife and family welcoming him home, though with only one-tenth of my
income and chances, and thought what might have been in my case, it
fairly broke down my discretion, and off I came here. Now I am here I
feel that I am wrong to some extent. But the feeling that I should like
to see you, and talk of those we used to know in common, was very
strong.'

'Before that can be the case a little more time must pass,' said Miss
Savile quietly; 'a time long enough for me to regard with some calmness
what at present I remember far too impatiently--though it may be you
almost forget it. Indeed you must have forgotten it long before you
acted as you did.' Her voice grew stronger and more vivacious as she
added: 'But I am doing my best to forget it too, and I know I shall
succeed from the progress I have made already!'

She had remained standing till now, when she turned and sat down, facing
half away from him.

Barnet watched her moodily. 'Yes, it is only what I deserve,' he said.
'Ambition pricked me on--no, it was not ambition, it was wrongheadedness!
Had I but reflected . . . ' He broke out vehemently: 'But always
remember this, Lucy: if you had written to me only one little line after
that misunderstanding, I declare I should have come back to you. That
ruined me!' he slowly walked as far as the little room would allow him to
go, and remained with his eyes on the skirting.

'But, Mr. Barnet, how could I write to you? There was no opening for my
doing so.'

'Then there ought to have been,' said Barnet, turning. 'That was my
fault!'

'Well, I don't know anything about that; but as