My only object--you must, you will admit that!--is to save you possible pain--a possible shock." "Mr.Arthur!" the voice was peremptory--"If you have learned anything about Mr.Anderson's private history--by chance--without his knowledge--that perhaps he would rather we did not know--I beg you will not tell me--indeed--please--I forbid you to tell me.

We owe him much kindness these last few weeks.

I cannot gossip about him behind his back." All her fine slenderness of form, her small delicacy of feature, seemed to him tense and vibrating, like some precise and perfect instrument strained to express a human feeling or intention.

But what feeling?
While he divined it, was she herself unconscious of it?
His bitterness grew.
"Dear Lady Merton--can you not trust an old friend ?" She did not soften.
"I do trust him.

But"-- her smile flashed--"even new acquaintances have their rights." "You will not understand," he said, earnestly.