s me 'Dear Sir.'"

"She could hardly do less," Percy remarked.

"I know: but there is a change in her. There's a summer in her writing
now. She has kept her word, Percy. She's the dearest lady in the world.
I don't ask why she didn't help me before."

"You acknowledge the policy of mild measures," said Major Waring.

"She's the dearest lady in the world," Robert repeated. He checked his
enthusiasm. "Lord in heaven! what an evening I shall have."

The thought of his approaching interview with Dahlia kept him dumb.

As they were parting in the street, Major Waring said, "I will be here
at twelve. Let me tell you this, Robert: she is going to be married; say
nothing to dissuade her; it's the best she can do; take a manly view of
it. Good-bye."

Robert was but slightly affected by the intelligence. His thoughts were
on Dahlia as he had first seen her, when in her bloom, and the sister
of his darling; now miserable; a thing trampled to earth! With him, pity
for a victim soon became lost in rage at the author of the wrong, and
as he walked along he reflected contemptuously on his feeble efforts to
avenge her at Warbeach. She lived in a poor row of cottages, striking
off from one of the main South-western suburb roads, not very distant
from his own lodgings, at which he marvelled, as at a cruel irony. He
could not discern the numbers, and had to turn up several of the dusky
little strips of garden to read the numbers on the doors. A faint smell
of lilac recalled the country and old days, and some church bells began
ringing. The number of the house where he was to find Dahlia was seven.
He was at the door of the house next to it, when he heard voices in the
garden beside him.

A man said, "Then I have your answer?"

A woman said, "Yes; yes."

"You will not trust to my pledged honour?"

"Pardon me; not that. I will not live in disgrace."

"When I promise, on my soul, that the moment I am free I will set you
right before the world?"

"Oh! pardon me."

"You will?"

"No; no! I cannot."

"You choose to give yourself to an obscure dog, who'll ill-treat you,
and for whom you don't care a pin's-head; and why? that you may be
fenced from gossip, and nothing more. I thought you were a woman above
that kind of meanness. And this is a common countryman. How will you
endure that kind of life? You were made for elegance and happiness: you
shall have it. I met you before your illness, when you would not listen
to me: I me