He could not say whether in truth he loved her or not; was it enough to feel that he could cherish her with much tenderness, and intoxicate himself in gazing on her perfect face?
Women are so different! Emily had scarcely spoken when he made known to her his love; could he ever forget that awe-struck face, dimly seen in the moonlight?
Her words to the end had been few; it was her eyes that spoke.

Beatrice was noble, and had a heart of gold; was there not heaven in that ardour of hers, if only it had been his soul's desire?
Henceforth it must be; she loved him, and he must not wrong her.

Alas! the old name, the old name alone, was still star-written....
He passed with her the afternoon of each Sunday.

Mrs.Birks' house was a large one, and Beatrice had abundance of room to herself.

Thither Wilfrid took his way on the Sunday which we have reached, the day following his drawing-room triumph.