ashes with an expression hardly uncivil.
"That is the worst crime in the calendar. Be wrong sometimes, an' you
love me, it will gain you a world of friends."

"If it could gain me your love in return, I might risk it," says he
boldly. "But that is hopeless I'm afraid," shaking his head. "I am too
often in the wrong not to know that neither my many frailties nor my few
virtues can ever purchase for me the only good thing on which my soul is
set."

"I have told you of one fault, now hear another," says she capriciously.
"You are too earnest! What," turning upon him passionately, as if a
little ashamed of her treatment of him, "is the use of being earnest?
Who cares? Who looks on, who gives one moment to the guessing of the
meaning that lies beneath? To be in earnest in this life is merely to be
mad. Pretend, laugh, jest, do anything, but be what you really are, and
you will probably get through the world in a manner, if not satisfactory
to yourself, at all events to '_les autres_.'"

"You preach a crusade against yourself," says he gently. "You preach
against your own conscience. You are the least deceptive person I know.
Were you to follow in the track you lay out for others, the cruelty of
it would kill you.

"To your own self be true,
And----"

"Yes, yes; I know it all," says she, interrupting him with some
irritation. "I wish you knew how--how unpleasant you can be. As I tell
you, you are always right. That last dance--it is true--I didn't want to
have anything to do with it; but for all that I didn't wish to be told
so. I merely suggested it as a means of getting rid of----"

"Miss Maliphant," says Dysart, who is feeling a little sore. The
disingenuousness of this remark is patent to her.

"No; Mr. Beauclerk," corrects she, coldly.

"Forgive me," says Dysart quickly, "I shouldn't have said that. Well,"
drawing a long breath, "we have got rid of them, and may I give you a
word of advice? It is disinterested because it is to my own
disadvantage. Go to your room--to your bed. You are tired, exhausted.
Why wait to be more so. Say you will do as I suggest."

"You want to get rid of me," says she with a little weary smile.

"That is unworthy of an answer," gravely; "but if a 'yes' to it will
help you to follow my advice, why, I will say it. Come," rising, "let
me take you to the hall."

"You shall have your way," says she, rising too, and following him.

A side door leading to the anteroom on their l