ive emphasis, as
if he were feeling his way. He was an opportunist with all the quickness
of one who must live by his wits among others existing on the same
uncertain fare. He saw her flush, and again he hesitated as a wayfarer
may hesitate when he finds an easy road where he had expected to climb a
hill. What was the meaning of it? he seemed to ask himself.

"Charles does not interest you so much as he interests your sister?" he
suggested.

"He has never interested me much," she replied indifferently. She did
not ask him to sit down. It would not have been etiquette in an age
when women were by some odd misjudgment considered incapable of managing
their own hearts.

"Is that because he is in love, Mademoiselle?" inquired de Casimir with
a guarded laugh.

"Perhaps so."

She did not look at him. De Casimir had not missed this time. His air
of candid confidence had met with a quick response. He laughed again and
moved towards the door. Mathilde stood motionless, and although she said
no word, nor by any gesture bade him stay, he stopped on the threshold
and turned again towards her.

"It was my conscience," he said, looking at her over his shoulder, "that
bade me go."

Her face and her averted eyes asked why, but her straight lips were
silent.

"Because I cannot claim to be more interesting than Charles Darragon,"
he hazarded. "And you, Mademoiselle, confess that you have no tolerance
for a man who is in love."

"I have no tolerance for a man who is weakened by love. He should be
strengthened and hardened by it."

"To--?"

"To do a man's work in the world," said Mathilde coldly.

De Casimir was standing by the open door. He closed it with his foot.
He was professedly a man alert for the chance of a moment, which he
was content to grasp without pausing to look ahead. Should there be
difficulties yet unperceived, these in turn might present an opportunity
to be seized by the quick-witted.

"Then you would admit, Mademoiselle," he said gravely, "that there may
be good in a love that fights continually against ambition, and--does
not prevail."

Mathilde did not answer at once. There was an odd suggestion of
antagonism in their attitude towards each other--not irreconcilable, the
poets tell us, with love--but this is assuredly not the Love that comes
from Heaven and will go back there to live through eternity.

"Yes," said she at length.

"Such is my love for you," he said, his quick instinct telling him