extraordinary merit, and perhaps even his personal appearance. He left his sentiments, in his private estimate, out of account—he was almost too proud to mention them even to himself. Yet he found, after the first moment, that he had to mention them to Mrs. Gorton.
'I don't know what you mean,' he said, 'by my "always" speaking of anything whatever that's between your sister and me; for I must remind you that this is the third time, at most, that we've had any talk of the matter. If I did, however, touch, to you, last month, on what I hold that a woman is, in certain circumstances—circumstances that, mind you, would never have existed without her encouragement, her surrender—bound in honour to do, it was because you yourself, though I dare say you didn't know with what realities you were dealing, called my attention precisely to the fact of the "given case." It isn't always, it isn't often, given, perhaps—but when it is one knows it. And it's given now if it ever was in the world,' Mackern still, with his suppression of violence, but with an emphasis the more distinct for its peculiar amenity, asserted as he resumed his pacing.
Mrs. Gorton watched him a moment through such traces of tears as still resisted the extreme freedom of her pocket-handkerchief. 'Admit then as much as you like that you've been a pair of fools and criminals'—the poor woman went far: 'what business in the world have you to put the whole responsibility on her?'
Mackern pulled up short; nothing could exceed the benevolence of his surprise. 'On "her"? Why, don't I absolutely take an equal share of it?'
'Equal? Not a bit! You're not engaged to any one else.'
'Oh, thank heaven, no!' said Philip Mackern with a laugh of questionable discretion and instant effect.
His companion's cheek assumed a deeper hue and her eyes a drier light. 'You cause her to be outrageously talked
