stairs to change his clothes. As he
fastened his tie he thought to himself sadly that this would be his last
dinner with Stella Fregelius, and as he brushed his hair he determined
that unless she had other wishes, it should be as happy as it could be
made. He would like this final meal to be the pleasantest of all their
meals, and although, of course, he had no right to form an opinion on
the matter, he thought that perhaps she might like it, too. They were
going to part, to enter on different walks of life--for now, be it
said, he had quite convinced himself that she was engaged--so let their
parting memories of each other be as agreeable as possible.

Meanwhile, Stella also had her reflections. Her conversation with her
father had troubled her, more, perhaps, than her remarks might have
suggested. There was little between this pair except the bond of blood,
which sometimes seems to be so curiously accidental, so absolutely
devoid of influence in promoting mutual sympathies, or in opening the
door to any deep and real affection. Still, notwithstanding this lack
of true intimacy, Stella loved her father as she felt that he loved her,
and it gave her pain to be forced to cross his wishes. She knew with
what a fierce desire, although he was ashamed to express all its
intensity, he desired that she should accept this, the first chance of
wealthy and successful marriage that had come her way, and the anguish
which her absolute refusal must have entailed upon his heart.

Of course, it was very worldly of him, and therefore reprehensible;
yet to a great extent she could sympathise with his disappointment. At
bottom he was a proud man, although he repressed his pride and kept it
secret. He was an ambitious man, also, and his lot had been confined
to humble tasks, absolutely unrecognised beyond his parish, of a
remotely-placed country parson. Moreover, his family had been rich; he
had been brought up to believe that he himself would be rich, and
then, owing to certain circumstances, was doomed to pass his days in
comparative poverty.

Even death had laid a heavy hand on him; she was the last of her
race, and she knew he earnestly desired that she should marry and bear
children so that it might not become extinct. And now this chance, this
princely chance, which, from his point of view, seemed to fill every
possible condition, had come unawares, like a messenger from Heaven, and
she refused its entertainment. Looked at through