h the result that she supposed me in
honour bound to marry that young lady. I explained that this was by no
means the case."

"How did you explain it?" asked Constance, still in her disinterested
tone.

"By telling the simple truth, that Miss Tomalin had herself cancelled
the engagement existing between us."

"I see."

Constance leaned back in her chair. She looked like one who is sitting
alone, occupied with tranquil reflection. Dyce allowed a moment to
elapse before he again spoke; he was smiling to himself.

"How strange it all is!" he at length resumed, as though starting from
a reverie. "This past fortnight seems already as dim and vague to me as
the recollection of something that happened long years ago. I never
believed myself capable of such follies. Tell me frankly." He leaned
towards Constance, gazing at her in an amused, confidential way. "Could
you have imagined that I should ever lose my head like that, and run
off into such vagaries?"

Constance also smiled, but very faintly. Her eyebrows rose, ever so
little. Her lips just moved, but uttered no sound.

"You know me better than anyone else ever did or ever will," he went
on. "It is quite possible that you know me better than I know myself.
Did you ever foresee such a possibility?"

"I can't say that it astonished me," was the deliberate reply, without
any ironic note.

"Well, I am glad of that," said Dyce, with a little sign of relief.
"It's much better so. I like to think that you read me with so clear an
eye. For years I have studied myself, and I thought I knew how I should
act in any given circumstances; yet it was mere illusion. What I regret
is that I hadn't talked more to you about such things; you would very
likely have put me on my guard. I always felt your power of reading
character, it seemed to me that I concealed nothing from you. We were
always so frank with each other--yet not frank enough, after all."

"I'm afraid not," assented the listener, absently.

"Well, it's an experience; though, as I say, more like a bit of
delirium than actual life. Happily, you know all about it; I shall
never have to tell you the absurd story. But I mustn't forget that
other thing which really did surprise and vex you--my bit of foolish
plagiarism. I have so wanted to talk to you about it. You have read the
whole book?"

"Very carefully."

"And what do you think of it?" he asked, with an air of keen interest.

"Just what I thought of the large