e would probably be jealous of Miss Lisle
flashed into his mind, to his utter disgust and dismay. He turned
into his own room and flung himself into a chair, only to find, a few
minutes later, that he was staring blankly at Lydia's blue vase. But
for the Lisles, he might almost have been driven from Bellevue street
by its mere presence on the table. It was beginning to haunt him: it
mingled in his dreams, and he had drawn its hideous shape absently on
the edge of his blotting-paper. Let him be where he might, it lay, a
light-blue burden, on his mind. It was not the vase only, but he felt
that it implied Lydia herself, curl, turquoise earrings, smile and
all, and on the evening of his meeting with Judith Lisle the thought
was doubly hateful.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

LYDIA REARRANGES HER CAP.

Thus, as the days lengthened, and the winter, bitter though it was,
began to give faint promise of sunlight to come, Percival entered
on his new life and felt the gladness of returning spring. At the
beginning of winter our glances are backward: we are like spendthrifts
who have wasted all in days of bygone splendor. We sit, pinched and
poverty-stricken, by our little light of fire and candle, remembering
how the whole land was full of warmth and golden gladness in our
lavish prime. But our feelings change as the days grow clear and keen
and long. This very year has yet to wear its crown of blossom. Its
inheritance is to come, and all is fresh and wonderful. We would not
ask the bygone summer for one day more, for we have the beauty of
promise, instead of that beauty of long triumph which is heavy and
over-ripe, and with March at hand we cannot desire September.

Percival's new life was cold and stern as the February weather, but it
had its flitting gleams of grace and beauty in brief words or passing
looks exchanged with Judith Lisle. He was no lover, to pine for more
than Fate vouchsafed. It seemed to him that the knowledge that he
might see her was almost enough; and it was well it should be so, for
he met her very seldom. She went regularly to Standon Square, and came
home late and tired. She had one half-holiday in the week, but Miss
Crawford had recommended her to a lady whose eldest girl was dull and
backward at her music, and she spent a great part of that afternoon in
teaching Janie Barton. Bertie was indignant: "Why should you, who have
an ear and a soul for music, be tortured by such an incapable as that?
Let them find