Her eyes lingered in his. ‘Not to any great extent! They were rather a mixed lot. And everything seemed in league against me. I made no headway anywhere. Still—it was experience. It was life. One was too busy, either hoping or despairing, to be dull. Each new phase seemed to be the discovery of a new kingdom, till you found—you hadn’t the key. There was the writing phase, the acting phase, the American phase⸺’ ‘America? Why on earth⸺?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know. The chance came. And the notion attracted me. A bigger, fresher world; experience⸺’ ‘You seem mighty keen on experience,’ Mark struck in. ‘D’you mean knowledge—or simply new sensations?’ She hesitated. ‘After all—new sensations _are_ a form of knowledge. The most interesting on earth. I’d go almost anywhere to discover the feel of things⸺’ She stopped short, and Mark frowned into vacancy. For the first time he caught himself wondering how old was she. ‘_I_ should say better be an ignoramus than a mere connoisseur in sensations,’ he remarked quietly. ‘But perhaps I missed your meaning?’ ‘Perhaps there wasn’t any meaning to miss! I was talking—rather at random.’ Then very lightly she leaned her head against his. ‘Mark—dearest, don’t look like that.’ ‘Well, you mustn’t talk like that,’ he said with decision. ‘How long were you in America?’ ‘Eighteen months. Not very pleasant always. But it did me no end of good. I even went home for a time, full of fine resolves. But the poor things soon shrivelled up in father’s atmosphere. Then—it was Harry to the rescue.’ ‘And now it’s Mark!’ With sudden fervour he caught her to him. ‘No more “phases” after this, my Bel. You shall have your freedom and your chance. I’ll make up to you, all I can, for the bad years. Mother will love you⸺’ Bel shook her head. ‘She doesn’t like me.’ ‘Darling, she doesn’t know you. Mother may have her cranks and prejudices. But if there’s one woman on earth she can be trusted to love—it’s my wife. I’ll take you to her to-night.’ ‘No—no. To-morrow. To-night—there’s Harry. It’ll be a blow. You see, when I first came to her, I was so sick—with everything, I swore I’d never marry. She’s jealous already—’ ‘Poor soul!’ Mark said tenderly. ‘But I’m jealous too. I can’t share you with Miss O’Neill. If it comes to a tug, you’ll have to choose between us.’ ‘I have chosen.’ She spoke with genuine fervour; and leaning against him, she closed her eyes. So seen, her face looked years younger and of a saint-like purity. Doubts and qualms seemed sacrilege. Without a word he kissed her lowered lids, and found, to his surprise, that her lashes were wet. (_To be continued._) _THE BATTLEFIELDS OF THE OURCQ._ BY EDMUND GOSSE, C.B.