astonishment.

Hermione had a divining-rod to discover the heart in another, and she
found out at once that Artois had a big heart as well as a fine
intellect. He was deceptive because he was always ready to show the
latter, and almost always determined to conceal the former. Even to
himself he was not quite frank about his heart, but often strove to
minimize its influence upon him, if not to ignore totally its promptings
and its utterances. Why this was so he could not perhaps have explained
even to himself. It was one of the mysteries of his temperament. From the
first moment of their intercourse Hermione showed to him her conviction
that he had a warm heart, and that it could be relied upon without
hesitation. This piqued but presently delighted, and also soothed
Artois, who was accustomed to be misunderstood, and had often thought he
liked to be misunderstood, but who now found out how pleasant a brilliant
woman's intuition may be, even at a Parisian dinner. Before the evening
was over they knew that they were friends; and friends they had remained
ever since.

Artois was a reserved man, but, like many reserved people, if once he
showed himself as he really was, he could continue to be singularly
frank. He was singularly frank with Hermione. She became his confidante,
often at a distance. He scarcely ever came to London, which he disliked
exceedingly, but from Paris or from the many lands in which he
wandered--he was no pavement lounger, although he loved Paris rather as a
man may love a very chic cocotte--he wrote to Hermione long letters, into
which he put his mind and heart, his aspirations, struggles, failures,
triumphs. They were human documents, and contained much of his secret
history.

It was of this history that he was now thinking, and of Hermione's
comments upon it, tied up with a ribbon in Paris. The news of her
approaching marriage with a man whom he had never seen had given him a
rude shock, had awakened in him a strange feeling of jealousy. He had
grown accustomed to the thought that Hermione was in a certain sense his
property. He realized thoroughly the egotism, the dog-in-the-manger
spirit which was alive in him, and hated but could not banish it. As a
friend he certainly loved Hermione. She knew that. But he did not love
her as a man loves the woman he wishes to make his wife. She must know
that, too. He loved her but was not in love with her, and she loved but
was not in love with him. Why, t