range. Sorrow even
approached very near to Rosamund and to him in that very month of
January, for Beatrice had a miscarriage and lost her baby. She said very
little about it, but Dion believed that she was really stricken to the
heart. He was very fond of Beatrice, he almost loved her; yet her sorrow
was only a shadow passing by him, not a substance pressing upon him. And
that fact, which he realized, made him know how little even imagination
and quiet affection can help men feel the pains of others. The heart
knoweth only its own bitterness and the bitterness of those whom it
deeply and passionately loves.

CHAPTER VIII

On January the fifteenth Rosamund put on the gown which had been bought
for the Carlton dinner but not worn at it.

Although she had not really wanted to go to Mrs. Chetwinde's party she
looked radiantly buoyant, and like one almost shining with expectation,
when she was ready to start for Lowndes Square.

"You ought to go out every night," Dion said, as he put her cloak over
her shoulders.

"Why?"

"To enjoy and to give enjoyment. Merely to look at you would make the
dullest set of people in London wake up and scintillate. Don't tell me
you're not looking forward to it, because I couldn't believe you."

"Now that the war-paint is on I confess to feeling almost eager for the
fray. How nicely you button it. You aren't clumsy."

"How could I be clumsy in doing something for you? Where's your music?"

"In my head. Jennie will meet us there."

Jennie was Rosamund's accompanist, a clever Irish girl who often came to
Little Market Street to go through things with Rosamund.

"It will be rather delightful singing to people again," she added in a
joyous voice as they got into the hired carriage. "I hope I've really
improved."

"How you love a thing for itself!" he said, as they drove off.

"I think that's the only way to love."

"Of course it is. You know the only way to everything beautiful and
sane. What I have learnt from you!"

"Dion," she said, in the darkness, "I think you are rather a dangerous
companion for me."

"How can I be?"

"I'm not at all a piece of perfection. Take care you don't teach me to
think I am."

"But you're the least conceited--"

"Hush, you encourager of egoism!" she interrupted seriously.

"I'm afraid you'll find a good many more at Mrs. Chetwinde's."

Dion thought he had been a true prophet half an hour later when, from a
little distance, he watched a