she denied herself to the rest of the world, and we sat for hours in that ancient room in the delicious twilight, while she sang to us--she sang divinely--little French _chansons_, gay and sad, and snatches of _operette_. How we adored her! I think she knew from the first how it would be and postponed it as long as she could. But at last she saw that it was inevitable.... I remember the last evening that we were there--remember--shall I ever forget it? We had stayed beyond our usual hour and when we rose to go we all of us knew that those pleasant irresponsible evenings had come to an end. And both Lorimer and I stood for a moment on the threshold before we said good-night, feeling I suppose that one of us was there for the last time. And how graceful, how gracious she was as she held out one little white hand to Lorimer and one to me. 'Good-night, dear friends,' she said, 'I like you both so much--so much. Believe me, I am grateful to you both--for having given me back my faith in life, in friendship, believe that, will you not, _mes amis_?' Then for just one delirious moment her eyes met mine and it seemed to me--ah, well, after all it was Lorimer she loved. _7th October._ It seems a Quixotic piece of folly now, our proposal we would neither take advantage of the other, but we both of us _must_ speak. We wrote to her at the same time and likely enough, in the same words, we posted our letters by the same post. To-day I had the curiosity to take out her answer to me from my desk, and I read it quite calmly and dispassionately, the poor yellow letter with the faded ink, which wrote 'Finis' to my youth and made a man of me. '_Pauvre cher Ami_,' she wrote to me, and when I had read that, for the first time in my life and the only time Lorimer's superiority was bitter to me. The rest I deciphered through scalding tears. '_Pauvre cher Ami_, I am very sorry for you, and yet I think you should have guessed and have spared yourself this pain, and me too a little. No, my friend, that which you ask of me is impossible. You are my dear friend, but it is your brother whom I love--your brother, for are you not as brothers, and I cannot break your beautiful friendship. No, that must not be. See, I ask one favour of you--I have written also to him, only one little word "Viens,"--but will you not go to him and tell him for me? Ah, my brother, my heart bleeds for you. I too have suffered in my time. You will go away now, yes, that is best, but you will return when this fancy of yours has passed. Ah forgive me--that I am happy--forgive us, forgive me. Let us still be friends. Adieu! Au revoir. 'Thy Sister, DELPHINE.'