d the most delicious dreams, moments even of deliverance,
when his conscience, exhausted with the sheer effort of winding, had
dropped to sleep too. And then had come the reckless moments, when he
had yielded himself wholly to the delight of her presence; and that
supreme instant when his love for Lucia seemed to have set him free.

And now it was love itself, furiously accusing, that flung him back
upon the torture, and stretched him out further than he had been
stretched before.

But Dicky's letter had to be answered at once. He settled Dicky for
the present by reminding him that nothing could be done by either of
them till the twenty-seventh. But he thought that if Sir Frederick or
any of his family were unable to pay up, there ought to be no
difficulty in arranging with his father.

To his father he sent a word of warning. "For Goodness' sake don't
commit yourself with Pilkington until you see me. I shall probably be
back in town to-morrow afternoon!"

Having settled Dicky, he breakfasted, bathed, was a little long over
his dressing, taking care that nothing in his appearance should
suggest the dishevelled person of the dawn. Thus he was rather later
than usual in presenting himself at the library. He found Miss Harden
there at his end of the table, with his note-book, busy over his pile
and engaged in finishing his Section--Philosophy. Her clear and candid
eyes greeted him without a shadow of remembrance. She had always this
air of accepting him provisionally, for the moment only, as if her
kindness had no springs in the past and could promise nothing for the
future. He had always found this manner a little distressing, and it
baffled him completely now. Still, in another minute he would have to
tell her, whatever her manner or her mood.

"Miss Harden," he began, "you've been so awfully good to me, there's
something that I want most awfully to say to you."

"Well, say it." But there was that in her tone which warned him not to
be too long about it.

"It's something I ought to have said--to have confessed--ages ago--"

"Oh no, really Mr. Rickman, if it's a confession, you mustn't do it
now. We shall never finish at this rate."

"When may I?"

"Some time in the afternoon, perhaps." Her smile, which was
exceedingly subtle, disconcerted him inexpressibly. She turned at once
to the business of the day. The question was whether he would begin on
a new section, or finish this one with her, writing at her dicta