"Ah! my dear friend," looking at him with sorrow in her eyes,
"courtship is scarcely the word, is it? For you and me there is
nothing to hope for, nothing beyond."

He leaned towards her.

"Never believe that," he begged. "These days are dark enough,
Heaven knows, yet the work of every one has its goal. Even our
turn may come."

Something flickered for a moment in her face, something which seemed
to make a different woman of her. Bellamy saw it, and hardened
though he was he felt the slow stirring of his own pulses. He
kissed her hand passionately and she shivered.

"We must not talk of these things," she said. "We must not think
of them. At least our friendship has been wonderful. Now I must
go in. I must tell my maid and arrange to steal away to-night."

They stood up, and he held her in his arms for a moment. Though her
lips met his freely enough, he was very conscious of the reserve
with which she yielded herself to him, conscious of it and thankful,
too. They walked up the path together, and as they went she plucked
a red rose and thrust it through his buttonhole.

"If we had no dreams," she said softly, "life would not be possible.
Perhaps some day even we may pluck roses together."

He raised her fingers to his lips. It was not often that they