She would forget him: women were shallower than men. They always forgot. But for him there was only intolerable solitude to the end. He would meet it, although he had come back weakly to the forbidden fruit. He gloried in the consciousness that he was a most heroic martyr as he stooped and kissed her mouth again and again. "Neckart!" called the captain.--"Somebody find Bruce. He has not a minute to spare." Neckart released her. "I must make this train," he said. "I must go back to the office. You know that I go on the steamer that sails to-morrow." Trains? Steamers? With these kisses on his lips? "What line do you cross in, Bruce?" The captain had hurried down with the other men. "Where do you go first?" as they walked to the house. "To France, and then to the East," buttoning his coat nervously, without a glance toward the stunned girl beside him. "Be back in the spring, Mr. Neckart?" said a lisping young lady. "Not for years. At least, that is my present intention." The warmth, the happy day, music, love that had filled all earth and heaven but now, were gone. In their place the gaslight, trains, conventional talk of duty! "Neckart"--she heard a whisper behind her--"goes to Russia and Turkey on secret business for the government." The kindly old judge, seeing Jane's face, quietly gave her a chair and sheltered her from notice. If Neckart had waited on this girl, he was an infernal scoundrel, no matter what his political rank. He knew she was as good as betrothed to Van Ness. Jane watched all these brilliant women flutter around Neckart, giving him messages to their friends abroad. His cloak was thrown loosely back from his broad shoulders: he bent to listen to them. She knew nothing of this world of theirs. She was like a poor limp rag of humanity, blown aside into a corner. She had her fantastic passion: all the world besides was orderly, moved in the grooves of common sense and duty. Mr. Neckart looked at his watch: "I must really go now." He shook hands with Mrs. Wilde, giving a swift glance to the corner where Jane sat. Waring and his attendant young ladies closed in on him with more last words and purling laughter. He made his way through them. "Good-bye! good-bye!" cried the captain, wringing his hand. "God bless you, Bruce! What is it? Jane? Oh, I'll make your adieux to her. You'll miss your train." But he had reached her at last, and took her hand in his, all the world looking on: "Good-bye, Miss Swendon." She could not say a word. They all followed him out, one pretty little girl taking off her slipper to throw after him. But Jane sat alone in the deserted room, looking at the door through which the heavy cloaked figure had disappeared. CHAPTER XV.