Robert Orange

eed, but left an ache. And as the day advanced the smart of the wound grew more intense. A visit to the National Gallery, a call at his tailor's

r wondered at anything. Wonder-the lovely mistress of wisdom-had taught him none of her secrets. Dead certainty had dogged his steps from his first appearance on this unknowable world. Once, when a very little boy, he admired a vase full of pink roses. "They will keep twice as long," said his nurse, "in dirty water. It is such a waste to put fresh water on roses!" This remark-slight

nor self-forgetfulness. His admiration for Miss Carillon had been of this kind. Having added up her attractions, her figure, her face, her youth, her intelligence, her grace, he decided that she was exceptional in many ways. He found real happiness in her society-she was so sane, so clear, so unaffected. His attitude toward he

table with its chessmen showing an interrupted game. A velvet footstool, much indented by the pressure of a firm foot, stood in front of the carved armchair in which Mrs. Rennes usually sat. Her work-basket, lined with blue satin and shining with steel fittings, stood in its customary place on a gipsy stool near the fireplace. A few old English prints hung on the walls, and between the windows there was a Chippendale cabinet filled with Worcester and Crown Derby china. The aspect of all things was restful, emotionless, and some of its calm seemed to overtake and soothe David's agitated spirit. He sat down at the piano and played, wi

," said she. "I thought you w

nor self-conscious. David was struck by her height and the extreme slightness of her figure. She wore a large Gainsborough hat with l

in town?" he

bored a

he tro

id, lifting her eyes fo

tinued, seeking relief in the very torture of reminding himse

k about luck,

last night. I lunched wit

ou are friends. I wa

ad. Politicians always r

very cultured. I hate the w

an educational influence, or a topic

. Yet I like to

face absorbed the poetry of her nature, just as a flower extracts every excellence from its surrounding soil, and, shining out for the sun, wastes no blossom underground. It had been her earliest ambition to marry a Member of Parliament and help him-by her prayers and counsel-on his conscientious career toward Downing Street. She had received an austere education, and even her native generosity of heart could not soften the indignation she had been trained to feel against any neglect of duty. Duty was a term which she applied to that science of things generally expedient which tradition has presented to us

He called once or twice at her aunt's house in Chester Square, and they had played together some of Corelli's sonatas. Her aunt carried her away to Brighton, and no more was heard of the young violinist till a rumour reached them that he was drinking himself to death at St. Moritz. Agnes said many prayers for him. At last a second rumour reached her that the first was wholly incorrect. He had married a very nice girl with a lot of money and was building a villa at Cannes. Agnes told herself that she was thankful to hear it. The next year she became engaged to a young Member of Parliament with really fine prospects. She was not in love, but she liked him better than all her friends. She felt serene, and at last useful. Then a story reached her about another woman, and yet another woman before that one. The story was true and not at all pretty. The Bishop was obliged to support his daughter in her refusal to regard matters in what her betrothed described as a sane and reasonable manner. He had sinned and he was sorry, and what was more, he had every desire to reform. But Agnes remained firm, although she had probably never been so nearly in love with him as she was on the day when she returned all his charming letters and the ring and his photograph. It was a trying moment. She was ordered abroad, and she spent the winter at Rome, where she read ancient history and visited churches and excited a great deal of admiration. Mrs. Rennes and David were also at Rome. The three met at the house of an irreproachable Marchesa. They became friends. Miss Carillon's aunt, who was a maiden lady with means, succumbed to the fascinating eloquence of an amateur connoisseur of antique gems. In her new character of fiancée, she found it inconvenient to chaperon a young niece. She joined a widowed friend, and gladly assented to the suggestion that dear Agnes should visit Mrs. Rennes in Paris. The Bishop saw no impediment to the plan. He had been at Oxford with the late Archibald Rennes, an odd fellow but high-minded. Mrs. Rennes was the daughter of a General Hughes-Drummond. Every one knew the Hughes-Drummonds. They were very good people indeed. Th

speech within the bounds of flirtation, but the tone in which he uttered it meant more, and the girl's womanly instinct told her that the dangerous limit in their

things," she exclaimed at las

dn't maintain it. Now I don't even want to maintain it. Then it was a kind of vanity. I mean that time when I was at the Palace. I had been reading a lot of beautiful unreal stuff about the soul. I thought I had reached a very high place. Of course I had-bec

aw in his look that he loved her, that he was unhappy. She knew that Reckage had never shown so much feeling. Yet had she not given her word to Reckage? Was it not irrevocable? Was Rennes behaving well in s

a poor creature. But," he added, with an ironical smile, "it is never too late to give up one's prejudices. I can't stand by and look on any longer. I intend to leave England for some years. I hope we may neve

terrup

ope I have never dec

riendship," he said. "I ca

murmured random words about t

ng why he could never paint, nor hope to paint, that he was determined to devote his knowledge to the service of apprentices. It seemed to him such an awful thing t

ng voice. "There is duty, you know; that is

ou so

, y

mean by duty. It seems to me another n

"Don't say these things. They make me wretched. I can't afford to

fantastic, capric

I will not change my views. I dar

e slave of

some other will stronger than my own. Why do you try to distur

appy? Agnes, we

hesi

d, at last; "r

Good women drive

h ourselves later. I live, again and again, through one conversation. T

ed her hand to her brow, which was

ther interests. I daresay I sound quite heartless and odd. I daresay you won't like me any more." Her voice faltered, but

e before, and now the forced sternness of her

e clever and original and all that. I am rather commonplace, and I never have new or surprising thoughts. The more

said Rennes. "Yo

to consider people or notions. I

d into you," he said. "It is the wor

zzled me. I tried to understand you. No one had ever puzzled me before. No

easonableness." No appeal, no threat could have moved her from the mental attitude she had decided on-the duty of keeping her word to Lord Reckage. But she might have been urged to the more candid course of ascertaining how far his lordship's true happiness was really

ion, that Agnes Carillon had, in some way, affected his life, his work, his whole nature. She could not blame her, because she knew nothing definite about the understanding which existed, plainly enough, between her son and this young lady. She had a horror, however, of flirtation and flirts. It seemed to her that, under all thi

d to see Mr. Renne

d, too," said

ot want, and asking questions he did not wish answered, although he hoped they would inte

staying?" ask

"she has gone in the carriage to do a lit

the pair from the window and nodded her farewell with much gravity. When David returned to her, he found her reading peacefully Trollope

e East. I need a change. I su

you will

at will

o day, my dear. I

price. I have been contemplati

er feelings were stirred, she showed it only by a cloudy pallor which would

and," continued Rennes: "one h

now?" she asked, not v

e answered, suddenl

u love

uld ever be absolutely sincere. But this I do know-I can't

coquette-a serious c

ind. She is a true woman