"Would not the right partner make one tolerable?"

"The right partner is not present tonight, thank you!"

The ladies then passed into the conservatory to their own laughing innuendos and Jan went quietly, almost secretly, home. The thought of amusement had become intolerable. He wanted first of all to be alone. Wave after wave of love and anger and regret flowed over him. How could he laugh and talk nonsense and play the part expected of him with such an insurgent tempest of feeling sweeping through his brain and his heart?

The sight of Julia penitent, stretching out her hands to him, was more than he could bear. He thought he had nearly conquered his passion; now he knew that hour that Julia still reigned in his heart. "What shall I do?" he cried. "I must go away. I cannot endure this torment of unsatisfied love. I must go away."

He found the house, as he expected to, silent and almost dark. Then he remembered that his uncle was to meet him at Lady Brougham's and was probably there when he left. That was a circumstance that he ought to have considered, but he could think of no one but Julia. Every interest on earth was out

of his care and knowledge. Julia filled not only his whole mental horizon but usurped, for the time being, every emotion of his heart. He pitied her, he loved her, he was angry with her and one feeling fought the other until he felt actually wounded by their strife. It is indeed a desolate thing when the love of this earth is forbidden and there is nothing to take its place.

But this anarchy of soul held in it one powerful element of salvation, that strong sense of guilt which no human absolution could cleanse. He never told himself that sin was anything but sin. The strong, stern principles of Calvinism flowed in his blood, and had been amalgamated with every side of his education. He knew that his father would say to him, "There is just one way, Jan; any other way is sin and death. Quit seeing the woman. Quit thinking of her. You know the law of God. If you have forgotten it, turn it up at John viii." His mother would say the same thing. She would likely also be hard on Julia, for all women lack fairness, and their prejudices are inveterate.

There is a tacit agreement in good society that everyone is whatever he or she represents himself to be; and as a general thing a report denying this situation is considered as malicious or defaming.

Guarded by this social law and by Jan's nearly constant absence from society, the suspicion concerning Lady Morgan and Jansen Kelder, if it did not die, made no perceptible increase. If mentioned by some ill-natured person, it was usually met by a shake of the head, a doubt or a flat denial. Sir William Morgan was not a man to quarrel with and Lady Morgan's balls and receptions, dinners and dances, were considered the most splendid and enjoyable of the

season.

Except in those few words of passionate entreaty to Jan himself she never yet had named her love to anyone. But Sir William knew it well and had a profound sorrow for his wife. He saw how bravely she was fighting her long prepossession in Jansen Kelder's favor; he noticed with grateful pleasure how cheerfully and carefully she attended to all the small likes and dislikes which brightened or darkened his own life. He felt that the struggle for her, at least, must cease, or be made as easy as possible and he suddenly determined on a step which however unusual was quite in consonance with his character.

He had been pondering this step for some time but it was a radical one and there were days in which it seemed both unnecessary and imprudent until suddenly something happened which appeared to urge it.