e might
b; but who could be seriously angry with the poor boy? And perhaps,
after all, she did him injustice. Some natures were more prone than
others to sudden passions; it really did not follow that a feeling must
be either shallow or short-lived because it was sudden; whether it
survived or passed away would depend chiefly on the person who excited
it. It was clear that Mary Travers was incapable of maintaining a
permanent hold over Charlie's affections, but another girl might--might
have. If so, it would perhaps be a pity if Charlie and Mary Travers
were to come together again. She doubted very much if they were suited
to one another. She pictured Mary as a severe, rather stern young
woman; and she hardly knew whether to laugh or groan at the thought of
Charlie adapting himself to such a mate. Meanwhile her own position was
certainly very difficult, and she acknowledged its thorniness with a
little sigh. To begin with, the suspense was terrible; at times she
would have been almost relieved to hear that John was married beyond
recall. Then Charlie was a great and a growing difficulty. He had not
actually repeated the passionate indiscretion, of which he had been
guilty at Cannes, but more and more watchfulness and severity were
needed to keep him within the bounds proper to their relative
positions, and it was odious to be disagreeable to a fellow-traveller,
especially when he was such a good and devoted friend as Charlie.

Sir Roger loyally carried out his bargain. Lady Deane was hurried on,
leaving Marseilles, with its varied types of humanity and its profound
social significance, practically unexplored; Aries and Amphitheatre, in
spite of the beckoning "star," were dropped out of the programme, and
the next day found the party at Avignon. And now they were once more
for a moment in harmony. Dora could spare twenty-four hours; Lady Deane
and the General were mollified by conscious unselfishness; the prospect
of a fresh struggle at Paris lay well in the background and was
discreetly ignored; Charlie Ellerton, who had reached the most
desperate stage of love, looked neither back nor forward. It was enough
for him to have wrung four-and-twenty hours of Dora's company from
fate's reluctant grasp. He meant to make the most of it.

She and he sat, on the afternoon of their arrival, in the gardens, hard
by the Cathedral, where Lady Deane and the General wore doing their
duty. Sir Roger had chartered a cab and gone for a