"And since?"

"I believe so! She talks about him a great deal. Why do you ask me this?"

"I cannot tell you, Hester," he said, gravely. "By the bye, do you think
that she is likely to have mentioned my name to him?"

The girl flushed up to her eyebrows.

"I--I don't know! I am sorry," she faltered. "You know what mother is. If
any one asked her questions she would be more than likely to answer them.
I do hope that she has not been making mischief."

He left her anxiety unrelieved. For some few moments he did not speak
at all. Already he fancied that he could see the whole pitiful little
incident--Borrowdean, diplomatic, genial, persistent, the woman a fool,
fashioned to his own making; himself the sacrifice. Yet the meaning of it
all was dark to him.

She moved over to his side. Her eyes and tone were full of appeal. She
sat close to him, her long white fingers nervously interlocked.

"I am afraid of you. More afraid than ever to-day," she murmured. "You
look stern, and I don't understand why you have come."

"To see you, Hester," he answered, with a sudden impulse of kindness.

"Ah, no!" she interrupted, choking back a little sob. "We both know so
well that it is not that. It is pity which brings you, pity and nothing
else. You know very well what a difference it makes to me. If I have your