that this seemed the very mockery of coldness. But she continued without heeding him.
"You know, I suppose, that a great disappointment always implies a great confidence—a great hope?"
"I have hoped," he said, "hoped strongly; but doubtless never rationally enough to have a right to bemoan my disappointment."
"You do yourself injustice. I have such confidence in your reason, that I should be greatly disappointed if I were to find it wanting."
"I really almost believe that you are amusing yourself at my expense," cried Longmore. "My reason? Reason is a mere word! The only reality in the world is feeling!"
She rose to her feet and looked at him gravely. His eyes by this time were accustomed to the imperfect light, and he could see that her look was reproachful, and yet that it was beseechingly kind. She shook her head impatiently, and laid her fan upon his arm with a strong pressure.
"If that were so, it would be a weary world. I know your feeling, however, nearly enough. You need n't try to express it. It's enough that it gives me the right to ask a favor of you,—to make an urgent, a solemn request."
"Make it; I listen."
"Don't disappoint me. If you don't understand me
