“I always made up my mind,” pursues Féodorovna presently, in an intense low voice, “that if ever I met a man really worth loving--no matter what his situation or circumstances in life were--I would offer myself to him. I have done so!” “And he has refused you!” rejoins Lavinia in a strangled voice, where wonder and scorn are halt throttling each other. “And you are _alive_?” This time the whip-lash does leave a slight weal in its bitter track. “Why shouldn’t I be alive?” asks Féodorovna, as her throbbing throat rears itself out of the delicate laces and pearls that surround it. “More alive than I have ever been before. So far from being ashamed of my action, I _glory_ in it--yes _glory_!” her voice rising in jubilant inspiration. “Not one girl in ten thousand would have had the courage to do as I have done!” Miss Carew draws in her breath between two rows of excellent white teeth. “And what do you propose to do next? To write and ask him to reconsider his decision?” The wind is somewhat taken out of the speaker’s sails by the quiet literalness of the answer. “No; I shall do nothing further! I bow to his will”--suiting the action to the word by a stoop of her russet head. Then, raising it again proudly--“All the rest of my life will be spent in trying not to fall below the standard to which my love for him has lifted me!” CHAPTER II In February light still reigns, though with uncertain sceptre, up to six o’clock in the evening, and the fact that the cold, aquamarine tinge is dying out of the west when she turns her back upon the Chestnuts, tells Miss Carew how much beyond its first scope her call has been prolonged. In the first place, she has been compelled, after all, to read General ----’s letter, and give her grudging meed of praise to its tact and humanity. Secondly--this has been the longest and hardest part of her task--she has had to reassure Mrs. Prince, who soon reappears, still tearful and jingling, as to the document having been undoubtedly penned by the hero himself, and not committed to a chuckling aide-de-camp or grinning secretary. Thirdly, she has been conducted into Mr. Prince’s sanctum, for the express purpose of cheering him up by light and general conversation, his hurt being much too deep and sore to suffer even the most distant approach to it.