“It was a close shave,” said the other. “Did you see that young fellow standing near the edge of the platform? I caught him on the side and sent him spinning like a top.” “Why, that was Chance--didn't you know him? I was in too much of a hurry even to give the poor devil a nod.” “Good gracious, was that Chance--that madman that threw up his clerkship at the F.O.!” “No, he didn't,” his friend replied. “That's what _he_ says, but the truth is he got mixed up in a disreputable affair and had to resign. No doubt he has been going to the 'demnition bow-bows,' as Mr. Mantalini says, but he wasn't so mad as to throw away his bread just to have the pleasure of starving. He hasn't a ha'penny.” “Well, _I_ don't care,” said the other with a laugh, and then went on to talk of other things. During this colloquy Fan had glanced frequently at her companion, but Constance, who had grown deathly pale, kept her face averted and her eyes fixed on the window, as if some wide prospect, and not the rayless darkness of the tunnel, had been before them. From their station they walked rapidly and in silence home, and when inside, Constance spoke for the first time, and in a tone of studied indifference. “So much going about has given me a headache, Fan,” she said. “I shall lie down in my room and have a little sleep, and don't call me, please, when you have supper. I am sorry to leave you alone all the evening, but you will have something pleasant to think about as you have been so successful to-day.” She was about to move away, when Fan came to her side and caught her hand. “Don't go just yet, dear Constance,” she said. “Why do you try to--shut me out of your heart? Oh, if you knew how much--how very much I feel for you!” “What about?” said the other a little sharply, and drawing herself back. “What about! We are both thinking of the same thing.” “Yes, very likely, but what of that? Is it such a great thing that you need to distress yourself so much about it?” “How can I help being distressed at such a thing; it has changed everything, and will make you so unhappy. You know that you can't marry Mr. Chance now after he has deceived you in that way.” “Can't marry Mr. Chance!” exclaimed Constance, putting her friend from her. “Do you imagine that the wretched malicious gossip of those two men in the train will have the slightest effect on me! What a mistake you are making!” “But you know it is true,” returned Fan with strange simplicity; and this imprudent speech quickly brought on her a tempest of anger. When the heart is burdened with a great anguish which cannot be expressed there is nothing like a burst of passion to relieve it. Tear-shedding is a weak ineffectual remedy compared with this burning counter-irritant of the mind.