Dolff stared open-eyed at this tirade. He had a faint idea that Lovelace meant a seductive villain, but what Meredith had to do with the eighteenth century, or how he was old-fashioned, this young man, devoid of literature, understood not at all. He did understand, however, that Janet was angry with Meredith, and this went to his heart. The dull yellow sky began to look a little clearer. It became a possibility that things might brighten, that a new world might arise, that these misty shadows might blow away. “If I could think,” he said, “that you ever could forget all this, Miss Summerhayes. I heard you taking my mother’s part with Ju: and you are thinking of Gussy, who doesn’t deserve it very much, perhaps, and you have saved me: for I never could have faced it out but for what you said to me--though I have seemed so ungrateful: and if you think it possible that we could all forget what has happened--in time----” “No,” said Janet, “I think there are several things in it which neither you nor I could ever forget.” “I am not so sure,” said Dolff. “It would depend upon you. If you would promise never to see or speak to----” “Whom?” said Janet, rising several inches out of her shoes, and looking down upon him with a glance that froze Dolff; and then she added, interrogatively, “For you?” and, turning round upon her heel, walked away into the house without a glance behind. CHAPTER XLVI. Janet was passing quickly through the hall, coming from the garden by the long passage which led past the kitchen and pantry, and turning round to go upstairs, when she found herself suddenly caught as she went along. Some one took hold of the end of the long boa which was round her neck and detained her. She was a little startled and frightened at first, thinking instinctively of the mad tenant of the wing, and that now the door was no longer fastened between him and the house. Her fears, however, were instantly put to flight, and feelings very different substituted in their stead, when a voice said, “Janet! stop a moment and speak to me, I am very lonely here.” “You have no need to be here, or to be lonely unless you like,” she cried, hurriedly; “and call me by my proper name, please. I can be only Miss Summerhayes to you.” “Don’t say so. You were not so hard upon me the other night. Ah! I forgot; it’s not the other night, it’s three weeks ago. Stop a moment; don’t pass without saying a word. You ought to pay me a little attention, considering all that I have suffered since--for you.” “For me!” she cried. “I am sorry that you have suffered, but it was not for me.”