"Let me point out to you, Mr. Ware," said Celia, slowly, "that to be
seen sitting and talking with me, whatever doubts it may raise as to
a gentleman's intellectual condition, need not necessarily blast his
social reputation beyond all hope whatever."

Theron stared at her, as if he had not grasped her meaning. Then he
winced visibly under it, and put out his hands to implore her. "Forgive
me! Forgive me!" he pleaded. "I was beside myself for the moment with
the fright of the thing. Oh, say you do forgive me, Celia!" He made
haste to support this daring use of her name. "I have been so happy
today--so deeply, so vastly happy--like the little child I spoke of--and
that is so new in my lonely life--that--the suddenness of the thing--it
just for the instant unstrung me. Don't be too hard on me for it! And
I had hoped, too--I had had such genuine heartfelt pleasure in the
thought--that, an hour or two ago, when you were unhappy, perhaps it had
been some sort of consolation to you that I was with you."

Celia was looking away. When he took her hand she did not withdraw it,
but turned and nodded in musing general assent to what he had said.
"Yes, we have both been unstrung, as you call it, today," she said,
decidedly out of pitch. "Let each forgive the other, and say no more
about it."

She took his arm, and they retraced their steps along the path, again
in silence. The labored noise of the orchestra, as it were, returned to
meet them. They halted at an intersecting footpath.

"I go back to my slavery--my double bondage," said Theron, letting his
voice sink to a sigh. "But even if I am put on the rack for it, I shall