Those words were the death-blow to her love, or what she called her
love--"Not even an honest man." This hero of her romance, this artist
whom she was to ennoble by her love, was not even an honest man. She
shuddered and grew faint at the thought.

Again she was present when Lady Ridsdale was talking of the Lysters to
her husband. She praised Allan's artistic qualities, she admired his
talents, but she owned frankly that she did not like him, that she did
not think him true.

Marion Arleigh was very much struck with this remark. Then she began to
think over all she knew of the Lysters. She saw all in the clear light
of reason, not in the glamor of love, and her judgment condemned them
both. The sister had been false to her trust; she had betrayed the youth
and innocence of the pupil entrusted to her, and he--she summed up the
evil he had done her in these few words--he was not true.

She decided upon what to do. She would never be false to them; all her
life long she would do her best to advance Allan's interest; but she
must release herself from the tie that became unbearable to her.

He, at this difficult juncture of affairs, behaved with great tact. He
took his sister's advice, and would not intrude upon her. He sought no
more interviews; he wrote no more notes.

"He sees," thought Marion, "that my eyes are open, and he wisely intends
to let me go free. He sees that I understand he has acted dishonorably
in taking advantage of my youth, and he is, perhaps, sorry for it."