Arbuthnot had never passed such an evening in the house as this one proved to be, and he had spent many agreeable evenings there. To-night there was a difference. Some barrier had melted or suddenly broken down. Mrs. Sylvestre was more beautiful than he had ever seen her. It thrilled his very soul to hear her speak to him and to look at her. While still entirely ignorant of the cause of her displeasure against him he knew that it was removed; that in some mysterious way she had recognized the injustice of it, and was impelled by a sweet, generous penitence to endeavor to make atonement. There was something almost like the humility of appeal in her voice and eyes. She did not leave him to Mrs. Merriam, but talked to him herself. When he went away, after he had left her at the parlor door, she lingered a moment upon the threshold, then crossed it, and followed him into the hall. They had been speaking of the Bosworths, and he fancied she was going to ask some last question. But she did not; she simply paused a short distance from where he stood and looked at him. He had often observed it in her, that she possessed the inestimable gift of being able to stand still and remain silent with perfect grace, in such a manner that speech and movement seemed unnecessary; but he felt that she had something to say now and scarcely knew how best to say it, and it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, help her. "You are very much better than you were when I came in," he said. She put out her hand with a gentle, almost grateful gesture. "Yes, I am much better," she said. "I was not well--or happy. I thought that I had met with a misfortune; but it was a mistake." "I am glad it was a mistake," he answered. "I hope such things will always prove so." And, a quick flush rising to his face, he bent and touched with his lips the slim, white fingers lying upon his palm. The flush had not died away when he found himself in the street; he felt its glow with a sense of anger and impatience. "I might have known better than to do such a thing," he said. "I _did_ know better. I am a fool yet, it seems--a fool!"