“Fanny has not very deep feelings,” said Aimée, in a voice of as sincere compunction as if the feelings in question had been her own, “but I think she _is_ sorry.” This simple statement, made in that sweet, pathetic voice, said a great deal more than the speaker intended to Lennox Kyrle. He was silent for an instant, then spoke in a softer tone: “I know that she is easily influenced by those around her,” he said, “and so this might have been anticipated. But if I were to see her--” “Oh, that is impossible!” interrupted Aimée, hastily. “She charged me to tell you above all things not to attempt to see her.” “Ah!” said the young man. Keen disappointment and mortification were in his tone, but also something of comprehension. “Then there is another lover,” he said. Aimée did not reply. It was no part of the message with which she was charged to enlighten Mr. Kyrle with regard to the other string to Miss Berrien’s bow; and since his assertion was fortunately an assertion, not a question, she suffered it to pass unanswered, forgetting that silence, in this case as in many others, was equivalent to assent. “That accounts for everything,” said the young man after a pause--in which, perhaps, he had waited for contradiction--“and I only regret that I should have given Miss Berrien the pain which I am sure she must feel acutely of treating me in this way. But it may relieve her sorrow, perhaps, to know that it is the last opportunity she will ever have to inflict a pang upon me. I have been the slave of her caprice and my own folly long enough. As I came here I resolved that this should be the decisive test. If she cared for me, she would go with me; if not, it was well to know the truth and be no longer the plaything of a coquette. Well, I am here, and she refuses even to see me. She breaks her word and throws me over without compunction. It is the end. Tell her that from me.” It flashed across Aimée’s mind, as he spoke, that this was very much the ultimatum which she had prophesied, but she had not been prepared for the stern resolution of the voice which uttered it. Plainly, Mr. Lennox Kyrle meant all that he said, and Miss Berrien’s comfortable belief that he would remain her slave as much as ever was a delusion of her own vanity. “I will tell her,” the girl answered, in a subdued tone. “I wish I had been able to--to give you her message better. She said a great deal--” “Which I can easily imagine,” interposed Mr. Kyrle. “It is not necessary that you should make an effort to remember it.” Thus discouraged, Aimée felt that she need no longer remain, that she had done all that was required of her, and might now return with speed to the shelter of the roof for which she longed. “I must go now,” she said, yet still she hesitated. She longed to say a word of sympathy, but it was not easy to do so. At length, however, she summoned courage, and spoke quickly: