wyer; that she had gravely, yet
withal so sweetly, spoken to him of the comforts of a rural life, and
made him almost in love with his own failure. Such passages there had
been between them; but Arthur had never taken her hand and sworn that
it must be his own, nor had Adela ever blushed while half refusing to
give him all he asked.

Why then need he trouble himself about West Putford? Why not let
matters rest as they were? Miss Gauntlet would still be his friend;
though seeing that she could never be more, it might not be well
for him to walk so often along that river. As there had been no
love-passages, one would say that nothing else was necessary.

But he could not content himself that this should be so. Adela would
think him strange if he should say nothing to her of his future
prospects. True, he had spoken no word of love, but had he not
looked at her as though it was in his mind to speak such? Was it not
incumbent on him to make her understand why he threw from him such
golden hopes? And then, as to her, he did not flatter himself that
she loved him--at least, not much; but yet it might be well to let
her know that she was now at liberty to love any other swain. So at
last he once more went his way to West Putford.

Adela Gauntlet was-- No; for once I will venture to have a heroine
without describing her. Let each reader make what he will of her;
fancy her of any outward shape and colour that he please, and endow
her with any amount of divine beauty. But for her inner character,
let him take that from me as I go on, if so be that I can succeed in
making clear to others that which is clear enough to my own mind's
eye. I have called her a heroine; it is the novelist's customary name
for his prima donna, and so I use it. But many opera companies have
more than one prima donna. There is the donna prima, and if one may
so say, the donna primissima. Now Adela Guantlet is no more than my
donna prima. My donna primissima will be another guess sort of lady
altogether.

Arthur, as he walked along, communed with himself as to what he
was going to say. "At any rate, she shall know it all; we shall be
more comfortable when we meet afterwards. Not that it will make any
difference to her;" and then he sighed deeply, and cut at the river
rushes with his walking-stick.

He found her as usual alone in the drawing-room, and, as usual, she
smiled sweetly when she saw him. Since the day on which he had first
gone up to Oxford