"Ah, no!" she cried. "Do not say that. Think that the evil in the world is far stronger than the good; that sin is in the ascendency, and that the honest and upright are in the minority. Remember that no man is infallible, and that ill-fortune always strikes those who are least prepared to withstand the shock." I remained silent. She spoke so earnestly, and with such heartfelt concern for my welfare, that I was half-convinced of her sincerity of purpose. The calmness of her words and her dignity of bearing was utterly mystifying. Outwardly she was a mere girl, timid, unused to the world and its ways, honest-eyed and open-faced; yet her words were those of a woman who had had a long and bitter experience of loves and hatreds, and to whom a lover was no new experience. Beneath these strange declarations there was, I felt certain, some hidden meaning, but its nature I utterly failed to grasp. I was young, impetuous, madly in love with this mysterious, beautiful woman who had come so suddenly into my otherwise happy, irresponsible life, and I had made my declaration of affection without counting the cost. "I care not what evil may fall upon me," I said boldly, holding her hand in tightening grip. "I have heard you, and have decided that I will love you, Aline." Again I raised her hand, and in silence she allowed me to kiss her fingers, without seeking to withdraw them. She only sighed. I thought there was a passing look of pity in her eyes for a single moment, but could not decide whether it had really been there or whether it was merely imaginary. "Then, if that is your decision, so let it be!" she murmured hoarsely. And we were silent for a long time. I looked into her beautiful eyes in admiration, for was I not now her lover? Was not Aline Cloud my beloved? The dying day darkened into night, and Simes entering to draw down the blinds compelled us to converse on topics far from our inmost thoughts. She allowed me to smoke, but when I invited her to dine, she firmly declined. "No," she answered. "For to-day this is sufficient. I regret that I called to visit you--I shall regret it all my life through." "Why?" I demanded, dismayed. "Ah, don't say that, Aline! Remember that you've permitted me to love you." "I have only permitted what I cannot obviate," she answered, in a hard, strained voice. I saw that tears were in her eyes, and that she was now filled with regret. Yet I loved her, and felt that my true, honest affection must sooner or later be reciprocated. Without further word she rose, drew on her gloves, placed her warm cape around her shoulders and pulled down her veil. Then she stretched forth her hand. "You will not remain and dine? Do!" I urged. "Not to-night," she answered, in a voice quite different from her usual tone. "I will accept your invitation on another occasion." "When shall I see you?" I asked. "May I hope to-morrow?"