which she tried to prepare him as much as possible for the
only answer she could give, but before her letter was sent Dolly had
told her story of innocent guilt.

Mabel read his note again and tore up her reply with burning cheeks.
She _must_ have misunderstood him--it could not be _that_; he must
have felt driven to repair by confession the harm he had done. And
she wrote instead--'I shall be very willing to hear anything you may
have to say,' and took the note herself to the pillar-box on the hill.

Harold found her answer on returning late that night to his room, and
saw nothing in it to justify any alarm. 'It's not precisely gushing,'
he said to himself, 'but she couldn't very well say more just yet. I
think I am pretty safe.' So the next morning he stepped from his
hansom to the Langtons' door, leisurely and coolly enough. Perhaps his
heart was beating a little faster, but only with excitement and
anticipation of victory, for after Mabel's note he could feel no
serious doubts.

He was shown into the little boudoir looking out on the square, but
she was not there to receive him--she even allowed him to wait a few
minutes, which amused him. 'How like a woman!' he thought. 'She can't
resist keeping me on the tenterhooks a little, even now.' There was a
light step outside, she had come at last, and he started to his feet
as the door opened. 'Mabel!' he cried--he had meant to add 'my
darling'--but something in her face warned him not to appear too sure
of her yet.

She was standing at some distance from him, with one hand lightly
resting on a little table; her face was paler than usual, she seemed
rather to avoid looking at him, while she did not offer to take his
outstretched hand. Still he was not precisely alarmed by all this.
Whatever she felt, she was not the girl to throw herself at any
fellow's head; she was proud and he must be humble--for the present.

'You had something to say to me--Harold?' With what a pretty shy
hesitation she spoke his name now, he thought, with none of the
sisterly frankness he had found so tantalising; and how delicious she
was as she stood there in her fresh white morning dress. There was a
delightful piquancy in this assumed coldness of hers--a woman's dainty
device to delay and heighten the moment of surrender! He longed to
sweep away all her pretty defences, to take her to his arms and make
her own that she was his for ever. But somehow he felt a little
afraid of her; he must p