have stayed away
so long. I believe it would _kill_ me!"

It was impossible for Aimee to hear this and be silent longer. She had,
indeed, only been waiting for some reference to the past.

"I knew it was that," she cried. "I knew it the moment Mr. Gowan told
me. And I have feared it from the first. Nothing but that could have
broken you down like this. Dolly, if Grif could see you now, he would
give his heart's blood to undo what he has done."

The pale little hands lying upon the black dress began to tremble in a
strange, piteous weakness.

"One cannot forget so much in so short a time," Dolly pleaded. "And it
is so much,--more than even you think. One cannot forget seven years in
three months,--give me seven months, Aimee. I shall be better in time,
when I have forgotten."

Forgotten! Even those far duller of perception than Aimee could have
seen that she would not soon forget. She had not begun in the right way
to forget. The pain which had made the pretty figure and the soft, round
face look faintly worn, was sharper to-day than it had been even three
months before, and it was gaining in sharpness every day, nay, every
hour.

"The days are so long," she said, plaiting the silk of her dress on-the
restless hands. "We are so quiet, except when we have visitors, and
somehow visitors begin to tire me. I scarcely ever knew what it was
to be tired before. I don't care even to scatter the Philistines now,"
trying to smile. "I am not even roused by the prospect of meeting Lady
Augusta tonight. I forgot to tell you she was coming, did n't I? How she
would triumph if she knew how I have fallen and--and how miserable I
am! She used to say I had not a thought above the cut of my dresses. She
never knew about--_him_, poor fellow!"

It was curious to see how she still clung to that tender old pitying way
of speaking of Grif.

Aimee began to cry over her again.

"You must come home, Dolly," she said. "You must, indeed. You will get
worse and worse if you stay here. I will speak to Miss MacDowlas myself.
You say she is kind to you."

"Dear little woman," said Dolly, closing her eyes as she let her head
rest upon the girl's shoulder. "Dear, kind little woman! indeed it will
be best for me to stay here. It is as I said,--indeed it is. If I were
to go home I should _die!_ Oh, don't you _know_ how cruel it would be!
To sit there in my chair and see his old place empty,--to sit and
hear the people passing in the street and