that he ought to feel—if he had been a better fellow he would have felt—more about his old ties. This is the sort of faith we live by in our soul-sicknesses.
Rex got up from his seat, as if he held the conference to be at an end. "You assent to my arrangement then?" said Mr Gascoigne, with that distinct resolution of tone which seems to hold one in a vice.
There was a little pause before Rex answered, "I'll try what I can do, sir. I can't promise." His thought was, that trying would be of no use.
Her father kept Anna, holding her fast, though she wanted to follow Rex. "Oh papa," she said, the tears coming with her words when the door had closed; "it is very hard for him. Doesn't he look ill?"
"Yes, but he will soon be better; it will all blow over. And now, Anna, be as quiet as a mouse about it all. Never let it be mentioned when he is gone."
"No, papa. But I would not be like Gwendolen for anything—to have people fall in love with me so. It is very dreadful."
Anna dared not say that she was disappointed at not being allowed to go to the colonies with Rex; but that was her secret feeling, and she
