"Did you address yourself to me, Mr. Thorndyke?"

"Norine, there is no one to hear; for pity's sake have done with this farce. Norine! Norine! as though I should not know you anywhere, under any name."

"Mr. Thorndyke," Mrs. Darcy answered, her soft, sweet voice singularly calm and clear, "if you persist in this strange delusion of yours I shall be forced to throw myself upon the protection of Mr. Allison. As the disinherited nephew of the late Mr. Darcy, I have no objection to make your acquaintance; in the light of a former friend I utterly refuse to know you. I am Mrs. Darcy. If you insist upon addressing me by any other name I shall refuse to hear or answer."

There was no mistaking the tone in which it was said. His eyes flashed blue fire.

"Take care!" he said; "even you may go too far! What if I tell the world Mrs. Darcy's past?"

The dark, disdainful gaze was upon him still.

"Is that a threat, Mr. Thorndyke? I do not know you, I never have known you. If you say that I have, I am prepared to deny it, at all times, and in all places. My word will carry as much weight as yours, Mr.

Thorndyke. I am not afraid of you, and if this is to be the manner of our conversation, I decline henceforth holding another."

She arose to go. He saw he had made a mistake. It was no part of his desire to make an enemy of her.

"Forgive me," he said, humbly--"forgive me, Mrs. Darcy. The resemblance is very striking; but I am mistaken, of course. You remind me of one I loved very dearly once--of one whose loss has darkened my whole life!

Forgive me, and let me be your friend."

The scorn in the dark, contemptuous eyes!--it might have blighted him; but of late years Laurence Thorndyke was well used to scorn.

"Friend?" she said. "_No_! I do not make friends lightly. Acquaintance, if you will, for Mr. Darcy's sake--for the sake of your great disappointment pecuniarily I am willing to be that."

"It was deserved," he faltered, his eyes averted. "I have repented--Heaven knows how bitterly. That I have lost a fortune through my own misdeeds is the least of my punishment."

She turned from him, sick--sick at heart with the utter scorn she felt.

As her gaze wandered away, it fell upon another face--the face of Richard Gilbert!

He was watching them. As he met her glance he bowed and walked away. A flush that Laurence Thorndyke had not for a second called there, came vividly into her pale cheeks.

"And for this craven--this hypocrite, I fled from him--spoiling my own life and his forever. Oh, fool! fool! What can he have but scorn and loathing for me now."

She arose impatiently. All at once the presence of Laurence Thorndyke had grown intolerable to her. Without a word of excuse she bent her head to him slightly and frigidly and moved away.

Mr. Thorndyke was not offended. The course he meant to pursue in regard to Mrs. Darcy was not yet quite clear. This, however, was--he would not let her easily offend him. His friend she should be. Who could tell what the future might bring forth? With all her girl's heart and strength she had loved him once. A fatuous smile came over his face as he glanced at himself in the mirror. Not so good-looking as of yore, certainly, but late hours, hard drinking, and the fierce excitement of the gaming-table had wrought the evil. He would change all that--go in for reform--total amendment of life--try sculpture and become a respectable member of society. Meantime he would see all he could of Mrs. Darcy.

By Jove! how handsome she had looked--what thoroughbred good style she was! And if--hidden under all this outward coldness--the old love still lay, how easy for him to fan the smoldering embers into bright flames.

And then--?

A vision rose before him--Helen, in the shabby rooms at home, writing far into the night, to earn the bread his children ate. Whilst Helen lived, let his uncle's heiress love him never so well, what could it avail him? "There is the law of divorce," whispered the small voice of the tempter. "To the man who wills, all things are possible. Mr. Darcy's fortune, and Mr. Darcy's heiress may be yours yet. You have played for high stakes before to-night, Laurence, my boy. Play your cards with care now, and you hold the winning hand?"

From that night a change began in Laurence Thorndyke--began on the spot.

Once more, that night, he had spoken to Mrs. Darcy--then it was to say farewell.

"You have told me you will accept me as an acquaintance," he said very quietly. "Life has gone hardly with me of late, and I have learned to be thankful even for small mercies. For what you have promised I thank you, and--will not easily forget it."

She bowed--gleams of scorn in her dark, brilliant eyes. So they had parted, and very grave and thoughtful Mr. Thorndyke went home.

The change began. Less drinking, less gambling, better hours. His wife looked on with suspicious eyes. She had reason to suspect. When Satan turns saint, Satan's relatives have cause to be on the alert.

"Given up gambling and going to try sculpture! Leon Saroni has given you the run of his studies, has he? I don't understand all this, Mr.

Thorndyke. What new project have you in your head now?"

"Going to turn over a new leaf, Nellie. Give you my word I am," replies Mr. Thorndyke, keeping his temper with admirable patience. "Going in for legitimate industry and fame. I always felt I had a genius for sculpture. I feel it now more than ever. Soon, very soon, you may throw this beastly copying to the dogs, and we will live in comfort once more."

The wonder and incredulity of his wife's face, as she turned back to her writing, infuriated him. But he had his own reasons for standing well, even with her, just at present.

"Nellie," he said, and he stooped to kiss her, "I've been a brute to you, I know, but--you care a little for me still!"

Her face flushed, as a girl's might under her lover's first caress. Then she covered it with her hands and broke into a passion of tears.

He soothed her with caresses.

"It will be different now," he said. "Forgive the past, Nellie, if you can. I swear to do better in the future."

Forgive! What is there that a wife who loves will not forgive? On her wedding-day Helen Thorndyke had hardly been more blessed. With a glow on her cheeks and a light in her eyes, strangers there for many a day, she went back to her drudgery. And smiling a little to himself, as he lit his cigar and sauntered to his friend Saroni's studio, Mr. Thorndyke mused:

"They're all alike--all! Ready to forgive a man seventy times seven, let him do as he may. Ready to sell themselves body and soul for a kiss! And what is true of Helen shall be true of Norine."

So Mr. Thorndyke set to work, and with untiring energy, be it said.

"Deserted," he meant to call this production of genius. It should tell its own story to all. The white, marble face would look up, all wrought and strained in its mortal anguish. The locked hands, the writhing figure, all should tell of woman's woe. The face he had in his brain--as he had seen it last down there in the light of the summer noon. All was at stake here--he must not--he would not fail.

And while Mr. Thorndyke chiselled marble, Mrs. Thorndyke copied her law papers. She had met Mrs. Darcy more than once in Mr. Gilbert's office, and Mr. Darcy's proposal had been laid before her. Her eyes had kindled, her face flushed as she refused.

"Leave my husband? Never! Whatever his errors, he loves me at least--has always been true to me. All other things I can forgive. Mr. Darcy meant kindly, no doubt--so do you, madame, but I refuse your offer, now and forever. I will not leave my husband."

The gravely beautiful eyes of Mrs. Darcy had looked at her compassionately.

"Loves you!" she thought--"always been true to you. Poor little fool!"

For she knew better. She and Mr. Thorndyke met often. Now that he had "gone in for" respectability and hard work, old friends came back, old doors flew open, society accepted him again. He was ever an acquisition, brilliant handsome, gay. Married, it is true, but his wife never appeared. Truth to tell, Mrs. Thorndyke had nothing to wear. Mr.

Thorndyke in some way rejuvenated his wardrobe, and rose, glorious as the Phoenix, from the ashes of the shabby past. They met often, and if passionate admiration--passionate love, ever looked out of man's eyes, it looked out of his now, when they rested on Norine.

It was part of his punishment, perhaps, that the woman he had betrayed and cast off should inspire him with the one supreme passion of his life.

She saw it all, and smiled, well content. She was not perfect, by any means. Revenge she had bound herself to have. If revenge came in this shape--so let it come. Every pang he had made her suffer he should feel--as she had been scorned, so she would scorn him. For Mrs.

Thorndyke--well, was it not for Mrs. Thorndyke she had been forsaken.

She was his wife, at least--let his wife look to herself.

They met constantly. As yet he had never offended in words. They were friends. She was interested in his "Deserted"--she visited it in company with some acquaintances at the studio. She had praised it highly. If she recalled the resemblance to herself, in that day past and gone, no word nor look betrayed it.

"It will be a success, I am sure," she had said; "it is so true to life, that it is almost painful to look at it."

Then he had spoken--in one quick, passionate whisper.

"Norine--forgive me!"

The dark eyes looked at him, not proudly, nor coldly, nor angrily now--then fell.