in a low voice, "it was the only thing. Rest
seemed like death."

Fermor dropped his eyes. "And Spain," he
said, absently; "why Spain again?"

"Ah," she said, "our poor mother, you know.
It was her country, and it was natural that she
should like to see it before she died. Old people
someway think of these things. We had money,
thank God. Her cousin left her everything.
But she did not enjoy it long. Poor mamma."

"Good God!" said Fermor, in some distress.

"Is she——? I did not hear—I did not, indeed.
I have heard nothing. I was so far away, or I
should have written."

Pauline laughed, a laugh faintly harsh, which
was one of the changes he had noted in her.

"Written!" she said. "Why? There was
no reason in the world for that. We wanted no
consolation from any one. You saw very little of
her. I can fancy, too, in India, with precious time
taken up—every moment of it. I have often heard
what strain is put there on men of capacity."

Fermor looked at her a little uneasily; but the
large eyes seemed to be fixed on him with perfect
honesty.

"Yes," he said, "they did work us there. But
I am so sorry to hear this. And when——"

"O, long ago! A few months after you—had
left. She was half a Spaniard, and very sensitive
and delicate; and our poor Violet's death took
hold of her mind a good deal, and, at last,
unsettled it a little. You might have remarked
how she doted on her—more, I believe, a great
deal, than on me."

There was a silence for some moments. Then
Fermor said, in a low voice:

"And Violet—poor Violet—I am glad you
have mentioned it—I have often, I assure you,
thought of it, and of that night, and what my
conduct must have appeared. And I was so
grieved when I heard it. But you know," he
added, eagerly; "what could I do? I don't like
speaking of it, it is so distressing a business, and
has ended so unfortunately; but——"

"Why not?" said Pauline, hurriedly. "There
is no need to take that view of it. After all, it
is different with me, you know. Sisters will be
sisters, and I,"she added, more quickly, "had
an affection for her that was almost extravagant.
But that is my concern, you see. I must keep
my own sufferings for myself. She was a child,
too soft and tender for life. Had she been a girl,"
added Pauline, earnestly, "she would have lived."

Again she laughed, and Fermor saw a film
gathering over her eyes. She brushed it away
hastily. "Is it not absurd?" she said. "And
two years ago!"

Fermor was all softened. The picture of poor
Violet came back on him with a pang of self-
reproach.

"I know," he said again, eagerly, "what you,
what she must have thought. The business, I
confess, had an odious look. But, if you had been
behind the scenes, and seen what pressure——"

"Of course," said she. "A mere ordinary affair.
I suppose five thousand things of the same sort
go on every year in England. Poor foolish girls
take fancies, and men, not so foolish, are
naturally flattered; and so it goes on for a time.
Then it is discovered that the whole is impracticable
and will never do. Intellect must have
something more to lean on than mere love and
worship. And so the whole vanishes in a pretty
cloud of romance."

"Exactly," said Fermor.

"Your friends," said she, with eyes fixed on
him, "naturally wished to see you advance in the
world. You had brilliant prospects, abilities, good
interest, and it was a pity to sacrifice them."

"Exactly," said Fermor again. "You quite
understand it. It was a youthful attachment,
but you know it would have ruined me. It was
better for both in the end."

"Exactly," she said; "better for both. You
say it was the only sensible course, after all.
Of course you are right. Only a man of
firmness and resolution could see it in that light.
One of your weak youths would have plunged
headforemost with her into ruin, and let the
future take care of itself."

"I considered," said Fermor, growing quite
assured, "that I was bound to look to her as
well as to myself. Far more, indeed. I know
human nature pretty well. I have, in fact, made
it a practical study. I knew there would be
some suffering at first; but that would be far
better than ten times that suffering later."

Pauline's face was growing intensely earnest
as she listened. When he looked up, the
expression changed suddenly.

"I knew" said Fermor, "you would make all
allowance. I was sure of it. The fact was, I
saw it was—I may tell you now—I saw it was a
mistake, about as soon as it was done. I knew
it, and was quite grieved."

Her eyes were fixed on him with a greater and
greater earnestness. But he did not see how
her lips were compressed. "Yes?" she said,
with an interrogative anxiety.

"We can't be always wise. As you say, the
next best thing after a mistake is to see that it
is a mistake. I saw it the very next day."

"You did?" she asked, with a sudden energy
that would have startled another; then added,
hastily: "To be sure. Sensible always. We are
only women, after all."

"Poor child!" he went on. "Another would
have been blunt, and spoken at once. I thought
it better to trust to time and chance, those two
great contrivers."

Again her eyes were fixed on him with a
strange and almost deadly expression. "You
did?"' she said. "That was the plan, was it?
I see. And it succeeded."

He looked up in a little surprise.

"Poor, poor Violet!" she suddenly broke out.
"Poor, sweet, wretched darling! To be handed
over to chance and time, those two great
contrivers. What a life! Why could we not have
saved her, poor lost darling? Time and chance,"