‘Oh, yes, I will have pity,’ she murmured vaguely. ‘Who would not be pitiful for such a waste of love—of life! It is very cruel and confusing—one cannot be angry; I grieve for you, and I grieve for myself. You see, in my case, love is now a thing of the past. I have to look back upon it and say with the German poet, “I have lived and loved.” I love no more, and therefore I live no more. You, at any rate, have more vitality than I—you are still conscious of love—’ ‘Bitterly conscious!’ said Valdis. ‘Hopelessly conscious!’ She was silent for a little; her face was turned away, and Valdis could not see the tears falling from her eyes. Presently she spoke very tranquilly, putting out her hand to meet his. ‘My dear friend,’ she said, ‘I am very sorry! I think you understand my nature, and you will therefore feel instinctively how sorry I am! I am quite an unfortunate mortal; I win love where I never sought it, and I have given love where it is not valued. Let us say no more about it. You are a brave man; you have your work, your art, and your career. You will, I hope, in time forget that Delicia Vaughan ever existed. A few days ago I should certainly have resented the very idea of your loving me as an insult and a slur upon my married life; but when I know that my marriage is a farce—a very devil’s mockery of holy union—why! I am not in a position to resent anything! Some women, without being as grief-stricken as I am, or in need of any consolation, hearing such a confession as yours to-night, would fling themselves into your arms and give you love for love; but I cannot do that. I have no love left; and if I had, I would not so forfeit my own self-respect,—or your reverence for me as a woman.’ ‘Oh, my love, my saint! Forgive me!’ cried Valdis, moved by a sudden deep humiliation. ‘I should still have kept my secret; I ought never to have spoken!’ She looked at him candidly, the tears still in her eyes and a faint smile trembling on her mouth. ‘I am not sure about that,’ she said. ‘You see, when a woman is very sad and lonely, just as if she had grown suddenly too old and poor to have a friend in the world, there is a wonderful sweetness in the knowledge that someone still loves her, even though she may be quite unable to return that love. That is how I feel to-night; and so I cannot be quite as angry with you as I should like to be!’ She paused, then laid her hand on his arm. ‘It is growing dark, Mr Valdis; will you see me home? My rooms are quite close to the pier, so it will only be a few minutes’ walk.’ Silently he turned and walked beside her. Overhead, through slowly-flitting clouds, one or two stars twinkled out for a moment and vanished again, and the solemn measure of the sea around them sounded like the subdued chanting of a dirge. ‘Where are you staying?’ asked Delicia, presently. ‘Nowhere,’ he answered quickly. ‘I shall go back to town to-night.’