r large dark eyes for
the first time to his. Beautiful eyes! a little shocked now--a little
cold--almost entreating. Surely, surely, he will not destroy her ideal
of him.

"You think I am censorious," says he readily, "cruel almost; but to
_you_"--with delicate flattery--"surely I may speak to _you_ as I would
speak to no other. May I not?" He leans a little forward, and compelling
the girl's reluctant gaze, goes on speaking. It chafes him that she
should put him on his defence; but some _one_ divine instinct within him
warns him not to break with her entirely. "Still," says he, in a low
tone, always with his eyes on hers, "I see that you condemn me."

"Condemn you! No! Why should _I_ be your judge?"

"You _are_, however--and my judge and jury too. I cannot bear to think
that you should despise me. And all because of that wretched girl."

"I don't despise you," says the girl, quickly. "If you were really
despicable I should not like you as well as I do; I am only sorry that
you should say little unkind things of a girl like Miss Maliphant, who,
if not beautiful, is surely to be regarded in a very kindly light."

"Do you know," says Mr. Beauclerk, gently, "I think you are the one
sweet character in the world." There is a great amount of belief in his
tone, perhaps half of it is honest. "I never met any one like you. Women
as a rule are willing to tear each other to pieces but you--you condone
all faults; that is why I----"

A pause. He leans forward. His eyes are eloquent; his tongue alone
refrains from finishing the declaration that he had begun. To the girl
beside him, however, ignorant of subterfuge, unknowing of the wiles that
run in and out of society like a thread, his words sound sweet--the
sweeter for the very hesitation that accompanies them.

"I am not so perfect as you think me," says she, rather sadly--her voice
a little faint.

"That is true," says he quickly, as though compelled against his will to
find fault with her. "A while ago you were angry with me because I was
driven to waste my time with people uncongenial to me. _That_ was unfair
if you like." He throws her own accusation back at her in the gentlest
fashion. "I danced with this, that, and the other person it is true, but
do you not know where my heart was all this time?"

He pauses for a moment, just long enough to make more real his question,
but hardly long enough to let her reply to it. To bring matters to a
climax, would not suit him