of life which is like a prisoner's endurance of his cell and his shackles.
When he reached Constance Maitland's door, she was at home, and he walked into the familiar drawing-room. She was sitting on the great, deep sofa, with no light but that of the blazing wood fire, although it was quite six o'clock. She rose as Thorndyke entered and greeted him gaily. Her meditations seemed to have been singularly happy.
Thorndyke sat down on the sofa by her, and, as all men do under stress of feeling, put his pain into the fewest words possible.
"I heard this afternoon," he said, in a strange, cold voice, "of your engagement to Cathcart."
"Did you?" replied Constance, smiling brightly. "From whom, pray?"
"From Miss Standiford."
"So that crazy Letty Standiford goes about announcing my engagement!" There was a pause, and then Thorndyke said, in the same strange, cold voice:
"Cathcart is an admirable man."
"So everybody says," brightly responded Constance. "Many persons have assured me of that."
