k there was anything untrue in that
letter, but--no doubt it must have seemed so. And of course ... I
_don't_ suppose you can go to the Heth Works much, or be very
familiar--"

"It isn't necessary for me to go to the Works to learn that my father is
not a homicide."

Her voice had lost something of its first ringing assurance. It seemed
to shake a little, like an indignant child's.

The young man said hurriedly:

"No, no! Of course not! I--indeed, I think you misunderstood what I
meant to say in--in that letter. I must have expressed myself badly. I
did not intend so much a--a criticism of individuals, as of
society, for--"

"Oh, please don't apologize. That's always rather silly, I think. I like
to see people with the courage of their convictions, no matter how wrong
they are. Good-evening."

"Don't go," said the slum physician, instantly, much as Mr. Canning had
said at a similar yet totally different moment--"that is--_must_ you--go
at once? I--there is something I've wanted very much to tell you."

She stopped still; stood in silence gazing at Dalhousie's friend, the
shabby author of the two Severe Arraignments. Undoubtedly there was a
sinking feeling within her, unsteadying in its way. But she was
spirited, and into her eyes had come a hostile challenge. Passionately
she dared this man to ask God to pity her again....

Her eyes were oval and lifted the least bit at the outer corners. The
bow of her upper lip drew up a little most engagingly at the middle
(like Teresa Durbeyfield's), an irregularity more endearing to the eye
than any flawlessness. There was the possibility of tenderness in this
mouth; more than the promise of strength in the finely cut chin. Her
thick lashes began pure gold, but changed their minds abruptly in the
middle, and finished jet black....

She was the loveliest thing this man's eyes had ever rested upon. And as
at the Beach, he seemed to begin with a plunge:

"Jack Dalhousie's gone away, Miss Heth--gone to Weymouth, Texas, to
live. I had a letter from him, day before yesterday. He's got work
there, on a stock-farm--among strangers. He hasn't taken a drink
since--October. He's making a new start, with nothing to remind him of
what's past. I ... hope he will be happy yet."

Carlisle's breast rose and fell. "Why do you tell this to me?"

"Because," said Vivian, "I've felt I--did you such a wrong--that
night...."

Under the flickering Cooney gas, the two stood staring at each