e other direction, while she passed on. A
half impulse was upon her to linger, to offer him an opportunity of
explanation. Somehow there was that about his personality which seemed
to belie her judgment upon him. But pride, perversity, superficiality
of the deductive faculty, triumphed. She passed on without a word.

The hour was dark for Piers Lamont--dark indeed. He was a hardened man,
and a strong-willed one, but now he needed all his hardness, all his
strength. He had loved this girl passionately and almost at first
sight, secretly and at a distance for some time before accident had
brought about their engagement, now a matter of three months' duration.
And she had returned his love in full, or had seemed to, until this
disastrous afternoon. And now his sense of justice was cruelly
outraged, and that he felt as if he could never forgive. Moreover, his
was one of those natures to which an occurrence of this kind was like
chipping a piece out of a perfect and valuable vase or statue. The
piece may be restored, but, however skilfully such be done, the rift
remains, the object is no longer perfect. It is probable that at that
moment he felt more bitterly towards Violet than she did towards him,
which is saying a great deal. He had been rudely thrown out of his
fool's paradise, and with grim resolution he must accept the position
and live down the loss. But the flower-like face, and the deep blue
eyes which had brimmed up at him with love, and the soft, wavy brown
hair which had pillowed against his breast in restful trust--could he
ever tear the recollection from his mind? Pest take those jangling
Christmas bells though, cleaving the night with their mockery of peace
and good-will!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here, Violet. What the dickens is the meaning of this?" said her
father, an hour or two later, as he met her going upstairs to dress for
dinner. "Here's Lamont cleared at a moment's notice, without the
civility even to say good-bye. Leaves this,"--holding out an open
letter--"saying he's been called away on urgent business--a qualified
lie you know, because no one does business on Christmas Day, and it's
nearly that now--and won't be able to return; may have to go abroad
immediately; and all the stock balderdash men write under the
circumstances; though how they imagine anybody is going to be such an
idiot as to believe them, I can't make out. Now,