of them did he love?  Could it be right for him to give his hand without his heart?  Could it really be good for Florence—­poor injured Florence, that she should be taken by a man who had ceased to regard her more than all other women?  Were he to marry her now, would not that deceit be worse than the other deceit?  Or, rather, would not that be deceitful, whereas the other course would simply be unfortunate—­unfortunate through circumstances for which he was blameless?  Damnable arguments!  False, cowardly logic, by which all male jilts seek to excuse their own treachery to themselves and to others!

Thus during the second ten minutes of his walk, his line of conduct became less plain to him, and as he entered Piccadilly he was racked with doubts.  But instead of settling them in his mind he unconsciously allowed himself to dwell upon the words with which he would seek to excuse his treachery to Florence.  He thought how he would tell her—­not to her face with spoken words, for that he could not do—­but with written skill, that he was unworthy of her goodness, that his love for her had fallen off through his own unworthiness, and had returned to one who was in all respects less perfect than she, but who in old days, as she well knew, had been his first love.  Yes! he would say all this, and Julia, let her anger be what it might, should know that he had said it.  As he planned this, there came to him a little comfort, for he thought there was something grand in such a resolution.  Yes; he would do that, even though he should lose Julia also.

Miserable clap-trap!  He knew in his heart that all his logic was false, and his arguments baseless.  Cease to love Florence Burton!  He had not ceased to love her, nor is the heart of any man made so like a weathercock that it needs must turn itself hither and thither, as the wind directs, and be altogether beyond the man’s control.  For Harry, with all his faults, and in spite of his present falseness, was a man.  No man ceases to love without a cause.  No man need cease to love without a cause.  A man may maintain his love, and nourish it, and keep it warm by honest, manly effort, as he may his probity, his courage, or his honor.  It was not that he had ceased to love Florence; but that the glare of the candle had been too bright for him and he had scorched his wings.  After all, as to that embrace of which he had thought so much, and the memory of which was so sweet to him and so bitter—­it had simply been an accident.  Thus, writing in his mind that letter to Florence which he knew, if he were an honest man, he would never allow himself to write, he reached Lady Ongar’s door without having arranged for himself any special line of conduct.