his eyes rested on her eagerly with a wild look in them. She made
a resolute effort to speak to him coldly--she called him "Mr.
Linley"--she bade him good-by.

It was useless. He stood between her and the door; he disregarded
what she had said as if he had not heard it. "Hardly a day
passes," he owned to her, "that I don't think of you."

"You shouldn't tell me that!"

"How can I see you again--and not tell you?"

She burst out with a last entreaty. "For God's sake, let us say
good-by!"

His manner became undisguisedly tender; his language changed in
the one way of all others that was most perilous to her--he
appealed to her pity: "Oh, Sydney, it's so hard to part with
you!"

"Spare me!" she cried, passionately. "You don't know how I
suffer."

"My sweet angel, I do know it--by what I suffer myself! Do you
ever feel for me as I feel for you?"

"Oh, Herbert! Herbert!"

"Have you ever thought of me since we parted?"