"Yes," said Imogene huskily, and she let an interval that was long to them both elapse before she said anything more. "Have I always done what you thought best, Mrs. Bowen?" "Yes, I have never complained of you." "Then why can't you tell me now what you think best?" "Because there is nothing to be done. It is all over." "But if it were not, would you tell me?" "No." "Why?" "Because I--couldn't." "Then I take back my promise not to write to Mr. Colville. I am going to ask him to stay." "Have you made up your mind to that, Imogene?" asked Mrs. Bowen, showing no sign of excitement, except to take a faster hold of her own wrists with the slim hands in which she had caught them. "Yes." "You know the position it places you in?" "What position?" "Has he offered himself to you?" "No!" the girl's face blazed. "Then, after what's passed, this is the same as offering yourself to him." Imogene turned white. "I must write to him, unless you forbid me." "Certainly I shall not forbid you." Mrs. Bowen rose and went to her writing-desk. "But if you have fully made up your mind to this step, and are ready for the consequences, whatever they are----" She stopped, before sitting down, and looked back over her shoulder at Imogene. "Yes," said the girl, who had also risen. "Then I will write to Mr. Colville for you, and render the proceeding as little objectionable as possible." Imogene made no reply. She stood motionless while Mrs. Bowen wrote. "Is this what you wished?" asked the latter, offering the sheet:---- "Dear Mr. Colville,--I have reasons for wishing to recall my consent to your going away. Will you not come and lunch with us to-morrow, and try to forget everything that has passed during a few days? "Yours very sincerely, "Evalina Bowen." "Yes, that will do," gasped Imogene. Mrs. Bowen rang the bell for the porter, and stood with her back to the girl, waiting for him at the salon door. He came after a delay that sufficiently intimated the lateness of the hour. "This letter must go at once to the Hotel d'Atene," said Mrs. Bowen peremptorily. "You shall be served," said the porter, with fortitude. As Mrs. Bowen turned, Imogene ran toward her with clasped hands. "Oh, how merciful--how good----" Mrs. Bowen shrank back. "Don't touch me, Imogene, please!" It was her letter which Colville found on his table and read by the struggling light of his newly acquired candle. Then he sat down and replied to it. "Dear Mrs. Bowen,--I know that you mean some sort of kindness by me, and I hope you will not think me prompted by any poor resentment in declining to-morrow's lunch. I am satisfied that it is best for me to go; and I am ashamed not to be gone already. But a ridiculous accident has kept me, and when I came in and found your note I was just going to write and ask your patience with my presence in Florence till Monday morning. "Yours sincerely, THEODORE COLVILLE."