The memory of the young Welsh preacher’s dead face, radiantly innocent, and of the triumph, set in agony, of the actress’s countenance as she had last seen it, haunted her continually. Death had stamped on their mortal love the seal of eternity. * * * * * Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs had lain in wait, the whole warm June sunset hour, till Miss Pounce should emerge from the side-door of the shut-up shop; he followed the erect, briskly walking figure with due discretion, and only permitted himself to catch her up at the corner of Berkeley Square. Then he accosted her. “Don’t, I do beseech you,” he cried, quickly forestalling the fierce repudiation in her eye, “don’t refuse to listen! I have not come after you to insult you, I haven’t, upon my honour! Pamela, I want to apologise. I want to ask your pardon.” His tone was so imploring and respectful, he looked so eager, so gallant and handsome too, in the rosy amber light, as he bent towards her, bare-headed, that her weapon of pride seemed broken in her hand. She tried to say with dignity: “There’s nothing more that I ever wish to hear from you, Mr. Bellairs,” but her voice faltered, and a sudden tear in each eye betrayed her. “See,” he went on eagerly. “The gate of the garden there is open. Let us go in, and sit on that bench. Just for a little while! Five minutes! One minute!” Pamela, shaking her head, and exclaiming: “No, sir. Nay, Mr. Bellairs, I cannot listen, ’tis impossible! ’Tis wrong! ’Tis folly!” nevertheless allowed herself to be drawn into the cool green tree-shadowed spot, and actually sat down on the suggested seat. He did not as much as offer her his hand; yet his urgency drove her almost with a physical force. “Oh, Pamela,” he cried, letting himself fall beside her, and clasping his hands and wringing them, “can you conceive what I felt when I heard that ’twas you--you!--oh, my generous girl--who paid my debt? And to think how the first use I made of my liberty was to offend you so grossly.” Pamela swallowed a sob. “’Tis over and done with now, Mr. Bellairs. Let me forget.” She tried to rise, but he caught a fold of her dress.