and recklessly! Really, I am anything but brave. I am full of doubts and fears."
"You're uncommonly handsome; that's one sure thing!" said Fenton. "I would rather marry you than lose you. Poor Mr. Lawrence!" Nora turned away in silence and walked to the window, which grew to her eyes, for the moment, as the "glimmering square" of the poet. "I thought you loved him so!" he added, abruptly. Nora turned back with an effort and a blush. "If he were to come to you now," he went on, "and go down on his knees and beg and plead and rave and all that sort of thing, would you still refuse him?"
She covered her face with her hands. "O George, George!" she cried.
"He will follow you, of course. He will not let you go so easily."
"Possibly; but I have begged him solemnly to let me take my way. Roger is not one to rave and rage. At all events, I shall refuse to see him now. A year hence I will think of it. His great desire will be, of course, that I don't suffer. I shall not suffer."
"By Jove, not if I can help it!" cried Fenton, with warmth. Nora answered with a faint, grave smile, and stood looking at him in appealing silence. He colored beneath her glance with the pressure of his thoughts. They resolved themselves chiefly into the recurring question, "What can be made of it?" While he was awaiting inspiration, he took refuge in a somewhat inexpensive piece of gallantry. "By the way, you must be hungry."
"No, I am not hungry," said Nora, "but I am tired. You must find me a lodging,—in some quiet hotel.'
