d sacrifice.

"What," she asked simply, "do you want me to say, Luke?"

"Only that--that you won't give me up altogether unless----"

Here he checked himself abruptly. Was there ever an Englishman born
who could talk sentiment at moments such as this? Luke was no
exception to that rule. There was so much that he wanted to say to
Louisa, and yet the very words literally choked him before he could
contrive to utter them.

"Don't," she said quietly, "let us even refer to such things, Luke. I
do not believe in this shadow, and I cannot even understand why you
should worry about it. But whatever happens, I should never give you
up. Never. We will put off fixing the day of our wedding; since we
have made no announcement this won't matter at all: but I only agree
to this because I think that it is what you would like. I fancy that
it would ease your mind. As for breaking our engagement in the
future--in case the worst happens--well it shall not be with my
consent, Luke, unless you really cease to care."

They had reached the gate close to the bridge. Life pulsated all round
them, the life of the big city, callous, noisy, and cruel. Omnibuses,
cabs, heavy vans, rattled incessantly past them. People jostled one
another, hurrying and scurrying, pigmies and ants adding their tiny
load of work, of care, of sorrow to the titanic edifice of this living
world.

Louisa's last words remained unanswered. Luke had, by his silence,
said everything there was to say. They stood on the pavement for a
moment, and Luke hailed a passing taxicab.

At the corner opposite, an omnibus pulled up on its way westward. A
man stepped off the curb ready to enter it. Louisa caught his eye, and
he raised his hat--the man who had passed them in the park just now.

CHAPTER VI

JUST A DISAGREEABLE OLD MAN

The luncheons at Grosvenor Square were always rather dull and formal,
but Louisa did not mind that very much. She was used to dull and
formal affairs: they were part and parcel of her daily life. London
society is full of it. The dull and formal dominate; the
others--vulgar if more lively--were not worth cultivating.

Then, she almost liked Lord Radclyffe, because he was so fond of Luke.
And even then "almost" was a big word. No one--except Luke--could
really like the old man. He was very bad tempered, very dictatorial, a
perfect tyrant in his own household. His opinions no one dared
contradict, no one cared to argue with him, and his a