"Poor Paulina!" he murmured sometimes, as he folded the perfumed pages, after running his eyes carelessly over their contents; "poor Paulina! how devotedly she loves me. And what a pity she hasn't a penny she can call her own. If she were a great heiress, now, what could be more delightful than this devotion? But, under existing circumstances, it is nothing but an embarrassment--a bore. Unfortunately, I cannot be brutal enough to tell her this plainly: and so matters go on. And I fear, in spite of all my hints, she may believe in the possibility of my ultimately making a sacrifice of my prospects For her sake." This was how Reginald Eversleigh felt, while Paulina was scattering at his feet the treasures of a disinterested affection. He had been vain and selfish from boyhood, and his vices grew stronger with increasing years. His nature was hardened, and not chastened, by the trials and disappointments which had befallen him. In the hour of his poverty and degradation it had been a triumph for him to win the devotion of a woman whom many men--men better than himself--had loved in vain. It was a rich tribute to the graces of him who had once been the irresistible Reginald Eversleigh, the favourite of fashionable drawing-rooms. Thus it was that, when Paulina's letters suddenly ceased, Sir Reginald was at once mortified and indignant. He had made up his mind to obey Victor's suggestion, or rather, command, by abstaining from either visiting or writing to Paulina; but he had not been prepared for a similar line of proceeding on her part, and it hurt his vanity much. She had ceased to write. Could she have ceased to care for him? Could any one else, richer--more disinterested--have usurped his place in her heart? The baronet remembered what Victor Carrington had said about Douglas Dale; but he could not for one moment believe that his cousin--a man whom he considered infinitely beneath him--had the power to win Paulina Durski's affection. "She may perhaps encourage him," he said to himself, "especially now that his income is doubled. She might even accept him as a husband--women are so mercenary. But her heart will never cease to be mine." Sir Reginald waited a week, a fortnight, but there came no letter from Paulina. He called on Carrington, according to appointment, but his friend had changed his mind, or his tactics, and gave him no explanation.