“Give it up,” cried Dolly, a soft, pathetic warmth and color rising to her face and eyes. “Give it up! There would be too much of what has past and what is to come to give up with it. Give it up! I wouldn't if I could, and I could n't if I would.” CHAPTER VII. ~ IN WHICH A SPARK IS APPLIED. IT was several days before Bloomsbury Place settled down and became itself again after Dolly's departure. They all missed her as they would have missed any one of their number who had chanced to leave them; but Griffith, coming in to make his daily visits, was naturally almost disconsolate, and for a week or so refused to be comforted. He could not overcome his habit of dropping in on his way to and from his lodgings, which were near by; it was a habit of too long standing to be overcome easily, and besides this, he was so far a part of the family circle that his absence from it would have been regarded by its other members as something rather like a slight, so he was obliged to pay them the delicate attention of presenting himself at least once a day. And thus his wounds were kept open. To come into the parlor and find them all there but Dolly, to see her favorite chair occupied by Mollie or Aimée or 'Toinette, to hear them talk about her and discuss her prospects,--well, there were times when he was quite crushed by it. “If there was any hope of a better day coming,” he said to Aimée, who, through being the family sage, was, of course, the family confidante, “if there was only something real to look forward to, but we are just where we were three years ago, and this sort of thing cannot go on forever. What right have I to hold her to her word when other men might make her happier?” Ainice, sitting on a stool at his feet and looking reflective, shook her head. “That is not a right view to take,” she said, “and it is n't fair to Dolly. Dolly would be happier with you on a pound a week than she would be with any one else on ten thousand a year. And you ought to know that by this time, Griffith. It is n't a question of happiness at all.” “I don't mean--” he was beginning, but Aimée interrupted him. Her part of this love affair was to lay plans for the benefit of the lovers and to endeavor to settle their little difficulties in her own way. “I am very fond of Dolly,” she said. “Fond of her!” echoed Griffith. “So am I. Who isn't?” “I am very fond of Dolly,” Aimée proceeded.