was Sylvia's second season, and she would no doubt learn several things
of which she heretofore had been unaware. Just at present, however, her
heart was very full, and life's outlook was indeed tragic to a young
girl who believed herself wildly in love with a married man, and who
employed all her unhappy wits in the task of concealing it.

A load of guilt lay upon her soul; the awful fact that she adored him
frightened her terribly; that she could not keep away from him terrified
her still more. But most of all she dreaded that he might guess her
secret.

"I don't know why you thought I minded your not--not talking to me
during dinner," she faltered. "I was having a perfectly heavenly time
with Peter Tappan."

"Do you mean that?" murmured Dysart. He could not help playing his part,
even when it no longer interested him. To murmur was as natural to him
as to breathe.

She looked up piteously. "I would rather have talked to you," she said.
"Peter Tappan is only an overgrown boy. If you had really cared to talk
to me--" She checked herself, flushing deeply.

O Lord! he thought, contemplating in the girl's lifted eyes the damage
he had not really expected to do. For it had, as usual, surprised him to
realise, too late, how dangerous it is to say too much, and look too
long, and how easy it is to awaken hearts asleep.

Dancing was to be general before the cotillion. Sylvia would have given
him as many dances as he asked for; he danced once with her as a great