rt?"

"Three years, I believe."

"And then only for an hour or two in London, at intervals of six months!
I hope that you are going to be a little more sociable now, and run down
to see us occasionally."

The brother and sister looked at each other steadily for a moment
without speaking. Each knew well enough what was in the other's mind.

"Yes," said Hubert at last, in a peculiarly light and careless voice, "I
think I shall." He crossed his legs, and settled himself into an easier
position in his chair. "Beechfield is not a bad place to stay at for a
few days--or even a few weeks--now and then. And you seem very
comfortable, Florence."

"Yes," she said, "I am comfortable. The General is very kind."

"And you have a fine boy--a nice little chap," said Hubert, still
lightly.

"Yes; he is a healthy child," she answered, in the mechanical way in
which she had spoken before.

Hubert gave her a keen glance. He looked at the long but not ungraceful
lines of her slender figure, at the blue veins which showed themselves
in the dead white of her hands, at the shade beneath her eyes, and
knitted his brows a trifle impatiently. Then he spoke in lowered tones
which betrayed some suppressed emotion.

"You have gained all that you wanted," he said--"you ought to be
satisfied."

She stirred a little in her chair, and allowed a faint smile to appear
upon her lips.

"And you," she said, "are a very successful man. How many nights did
your last play run? You are popular; you have made money; you ought to
be satisfied too."

Each knew that the other was not satisfied at all, each knew the cause
of that silent dissatisfaction with what life had to give.

"I am satisfied," said the man grimly.

It was the tone that said, "I will be satisfied in spite of fate! In
spite of my own actions, my own sin, my own remorse, I will be
satisfied!"

"You have changed your note," said Florence, regarding him curiously.

"And not too soon," he answered decisively. "There is nothing so useless
as sorrowing over the past and regretting what cannot be undone. Let me
recommend my philosophy of life to you. Make the best of what remains;
we cannot bring back what we have cast away." There was a new hardness
in his tone--not of recklessness, but of unflinching determination. He
rose and stood on the hearthrug, with his hands behind him as he spoke.
"I have taken a new departure. I have wasted many hours of the past. I
am resolved to waste