ic that she could hardly be said to have considered the matter
at all.

"Well, Toni?" Her long silence made him uneasy, and he paled, fearing he
had angered her by his persistence.

"Well?" She gazed at him absently for a moment, then woke suddenly to
life. "Leonard, are you seriously asking me to go away with you? You
mean you would take me away, and let my husband divorce me--for you?"

"Yes, Toni." He spoke firmly; and, if for a moment all his lifelong
visions of a respectable London practice, prosperity, the respect of
those around him, seemed to rise up reproachfully before his eyes, he
meant his words absolutely.

"Would you really do it? You must be very fond of me," said Toni simply;
and the young man was emboldened to proceed.

"Of course I would do it, and of course I am fond of you." His voice
shook a little. "Toni do you really mean that you will think about
it--will give me the tiniest fraction of hope to keep me alive?"

"Yes. I will think about it." She spoke slowly. "But--I can't tell
you--now. You must go away and let me think things out."

"Don't think too long," he besought her, fearing that prudence might
come with reflection. "When will you tell me, Toni? To-morrow? Will you
write to me? One word--yes--will do; and I'll make arrangements at
once."

For a moment his earnestness startled her.

"You could do it--like that--at once? Leave your practice and everything
else at a moment's notice?"

"I'd leave all I have in the world at a second's notice," said Mr.
Dowson resolutely; and Toni could not but believe in his sincerity.

"Very well." She felt tired suddenly. "I will write--to-morrow. But--but
you won't be angry if it's _no_?" Toni added childishly.

"I'd never be angry--with you." The young man's commonplace features
were irradiated by a great light, and for a moment one could forget his
mean stature and ready-made clothing. "You will never understand--you
couldn't--what you are to me; but before God," said Leonard Dowson
solemnly, "I'd devote my life, my soul, all I have to your service, and
never ask for thanks."

"Well, if you will go now, I will write to you," said Toni, rather
wearily; and his passion was checked by the fatigue in her voice.

"I'll go now--at once--and you--you will write, Toni? I'll count every
moment till I get your letter."

"Yes, I will write," she reiterated dully, wishing he would go and leave
her alone with her thoughts; and without another word he