ng West then, and doing some grand thing; but
you see his hero days are gone by. Ten years from this he may be a
demagogue, a rank socialist, whining about equality. Still, if I must
congratulate you"--

She made a haughty gesture, and her first impulse was to let it go; but
her truthful nature could not brook the implied deception.

"You may congratulate me upon the friendship alone," with a clear, sharp
emphasis.

His shattered self-confidence returned suddenly, shaped to arrogance. If
she was not entangled with Jack Darcy, there certainly was no one else.

"Sylvie," he began loftily, "this has been child's play, and I am
heartily ashamed of my share of it. Let us go back, and forget it. You
have had your tilt at windmills; so suppose we return to common sense.
You are still heart-free, it seems; and I beg pardon for repeating
foolish gossip. Your aunt has accepted me as your suitor; my mother is
waiting to receive you as a daughter; and I think," with some pride in
his tone, "that few men can offer you a cleaner hand, or a better
record. You will have a life of ease and leisure, and-- Why, Sylvie, you
can teach _me_,--you can help me up these glowing heights."

"I have answered you!"

She seemed to grow tall and regal as she stood there by the gate, the
long, arrowy ray of lamp-light from within illumining her proud, cold
face, that could flush with such bewildering warmth. He discerned in
some dim way that she had access to a life far above his; an atmosphere
like hoar-frost surrounded her, raying off fine points, that thrust him
farther away into darkness and coldness. Had something been taken out of
his life?

The man's well-nigh imperturbable complacency had received a shock.

"Good-night," in a softer tone. One cannot break a pleasant friendship
without a pang.

As one in a dream he heard the gate close, the soft footfall on the
brick walk, and a waft of voices from within. Then it occurred to him
that he, Frederic De Woolfe Lawrence, had been rejected by this little
girl upon whose head he had meant to shower the blessing of marital
protection, the regard of a soul that was not quite indifferent, after
all. What was this dull pang somewhere in his symmetrical, well-kept
body? Was it the night that made his pulses heavy and turgid?

Then he turned. "By Jove!" he muttered, "there's not another girl in the
country that could have kept her fingers out of the governor's
money-bags! Poor mother! What a di