and dine, and I go to bed very early. Josiah is not strong enough yet
for late hours or theatres."

"It sounds supernaturally gay for Paris!" said Lord Bracondale; and then
he felt a brute when he saw the cloud in the blue eyes.

"No, it is not gay," she said, simply. "But the flowers are beautiful,
and the green trees and the chestnut blossoms and the fine air here, and
there is a little stream among the trees which laughs to itself as it
runs, and all these things say something to me."

He felt rebuked--rebuked and interested.

"I would like to see them all with you," he said.

That was one of his charms--directness. He did not insinuate often; he
stated facts.

"You would find it all much too monotonous," she answered. "You would
tire of them after the first time. And you could if you liked, too,
because I suppose you are free, being a man, and can choose your own
life," and she sighed unconsciously.

And there came to Hector Bracondale the picture of her life--sacrificed,
no doubt, to others' needs. He seemed to see the long years tied to
Josiah Brown, the cramping of her soul, the dreary desolation of it.
Then a tenderness came over him, a chivalrous tenderness unfelt by him
towards women now for many a long day.

"I wonder if I can choose my life," he said, and he looked into her