half inclined
to share this opinion; for although he knew how a chance of shining with,
and perhaps of outshining, such luminaries as were to adorn the
Manchester platform would appeal to his friend, he did not think that for
its sake Quisante would abandon any prospect of success in his suit. In
fact the impression was general, and the relief proportionate. The Dean
beamed and Mrs. Baxter purred; Morewood was good-natured, and Fred
Wentworth was lightened of a burden of bewilderment which had pressed
heavily on his youthful mind. Quisante was treated with a marked access
of cordiality, and May was petted like a child who has displayed a strong
inclination to be naughty, but has at last made up its mind to be good,
and thereby saved those responsible for its moral welfare from the
disagreeable necessity of showing displeasure and exercising discipline.
She smiled to herself at the effusive affection with which Lady Richard
bade her good-night.

For these people did not know the history, and had not been present at
the interview between May and Quisante on Duty Hill when the sun was
sinking and the air was still. They did not know that it was by her
command that he went and that his going rather strengthened than relaxed
the bond there was between them. Always there stood out in her memory the
scene on the hill, how he faced her there and told her that, great as the
chance was and imperative as the call, yet he would not go; he could not
leave her, he said, and then and there poured out his love for her. When
he made love, he was not as when he flirted. Passion purged him; he was
strong, direct, and simple; he was consumed then by what he felt and had
no time to spoil the effect by asking what impression he made on others.
Here was the thing that Marchmont could not give her, the great moment,
the thrill, the sense of a power in the man which she had not measured,
might spend her life in seeking to measure, and yet never to the end know
in its fulness. But she answered not a word to his love-making, she
neither accepted nor refused it; as often as he paused an instant and
again when he came to the end, she had nothing to say or would say
nothing except, "You must go."

"You're the only person in the world for whose sake I would hesitate
about going."

She smiled. "That's not at all to your credit," she said; but she was not
ill pleased.

He came a step nearer to her and said, still soberly, still quietly,
"I'll go