pression from my face before Mr. Lucy comes in. He
might not like it. The pocket-handkerchief might be used with advantage
now--just there."

In obedience to his indication she passed her hand over the flushed
tear-stain. At that moment Lucy entered with his sister.

Jane, less guarded than her brother, looked candidly, steadily at
Marston, whose face instantly composed itself to reverence and devotion
before her young half-spiritual presence.

Kitty's voice was scarcely audible as she murmured the ritual of
introduction.

Lucy was aware of her emotion.

"I think," said he, "as Mrs. Tailleur has owned to a bad headache, Mr.
Marston and I had better say good night."

Marston said it. There was nothing else left for him to say. And as he
went through the door that Lucy opened for him, he cursed him in his
heart.

"Jane," said Kitty.

But Jane was looking at the door through which Marston and Robert had
just gone.

"Robert did that very neatly," said she. "You wanted to get rid of him,
didn't you, Kitty?"

"I've been trying to get rid of Wilfrid Marston for the last three
weeks."

She had such wisdom, mothered by fierce necessity, as comes to the
foolish at their call. She was standing over little Jane as she spoke,
looking down into her pure, uplifted eyes.

"You've been crying," she said.

"Yes." Jane's eyes were very bright, new-washed with tears.

"I know why. It's because of me."

"Yes; but it's all right now, Kitty."

She did not tell her that ten minutes ago she, too, had been out on the
Cliff-side and had had a battle with herself there, and had won it. For
little Jane there couldn't be a harder thing in the world than to give
Robert up. Of course she had to do it, so there could be no virtue in
that. The hard thing was to do it gracefully, beautifully.

"What are you going to say to me, Janey? He told you?"

"Yes; he told me."

"Oh, don't look at me like that, dear. Say if you hate it for him."

"I don't hate it. Only, oh, Kitty, dear, do you really love him?"

"Yes; I love him."

"But--you've only known him ten days. I don't think I could love a man
I'd only known ten days."

"It makes no difference."

"That's what Robert said."

"Yes; he said it to me. Ah, I know what you mean. You think it's all
very well for him, because men are different. It's me you can't
understand; you think I must be horrid."

"Oh no, no. It's only--I think _I'm_ different, that's all."

"_Is_ that al