'Very well,' replies she, meekly. 'But you [sob] you won't tell Mabel--'

'I won't tell a soul.'

'And you're not vexed with me?'

'No; why should I be. Good-night.'

'Good-night,' such a sad little face she turns to him, that he stoops
and kisses it.

'What a child she is,' he thinks, as he watches her down the passage. 'I
wonder what induced her to throw Jimmy over. Couldn't have been better
off as regards a husband. Money! as if that would ever enter into her
head. Can't make it out at all. She likes him I can see.'

For some time, Paul puzzles his handsome head about Philippa, and then
when sleep has come, he dreams of the woman he loved; she to whom he
gave his love, his faith, his all, only to be abused; the woman who has
blighted his life. Oh! it is a strange world. It is like a puzzle that
everyone tries to make, but does not succeed because the principal parts
are missing. Will they ever be found, the missing links, the pieces of
the puzzle, the answer to the 'whys' and 'wherefores?'

'We run a race to-day, and find no halting place,
All things we see be far within our scope
And still we peer beyond with craving face.'