If the circumstances of these two had been what Elizabeth Fairfax supposed, they would have spent some blessed hours together before dusk.  They stayed on the pier, and they talked, not of their love—­they had said all their say of love—­but of Mr. Cecil Burleigh’s flattering prospects.  When he stated that his expectations of getting a seat in the House of Commons were based on the good-will of the Fairfax family and connections, Julia was silent for several minutes.  Then she remarked in a gentle voice that Miss Fairfax was a handsome girl.  Mr. Cecil Burleigh acquiesced, and added that she was also amiable and intelligent.

After that they walked home—­to the dull little house in the by street, that is.  Mr. Cecil Burleigh refused to go in; and when the door closed on Julia’s “Good-bye, Cecil, goodbye, dear,” he walked swiftly away to his hotel, with the sensations of a man who is honestly miserable, and also who has not dined.

Julia sat by the open window until very late in the hot night, and Helen with her, comforting her.

“No, the years have not been thrown away!  If I live to grow old I shall still count them the best years of my life,” said she with a pathetic resignation.  “I may have been sometimes out of spirits, but much oftener I have been happy; what other joy have I ever had than Cecil’s love?  I was eighteen when we met at that ball—­you remember, Nell!  Dear Cecil!  I adored him from the first kind word he gave me, and what a thrill I felt to-day when I saw him coming!”

“And he is to come no more?” inquired Helen softly.

“No more as of old.  Of course we shall see one another as people do who live in the same world:  I am not going into a nunnery.  Cecil will be a great man some day, and I shall recollect with pride that for six years he loved only me.  He did not mention Mr. Brotherton:  I think he has heard, but if not, he will hear soon enough from other people.  If we were not so awfully poor, Nell, or if poverty were not so dreadful to mamma, I never would marry—­never while Cecil is a bachelor.”

This was how Julia Gardiner announced that she meant to succumb to the pressure of circumstances.  Helen kissed her thankfully.  She had been very anxious for this consummation.  It would be a substantial, permanent benefit to them all if Julia married Mr. Brotherton.  He had said that it should be so, and he was a gentleman of good estate, and as generous as he was wealthy, though very middle-aged, a widower with six children, and as a lover not interesting perhaps.

Mr. Cecil Burleigh also sat at an open window, but he was not provided with a confessor, only with a cigar.  He had dined, and did not feel so intensely miserable as he felt an hour ago.  “Dear little Julia!” He thought of her with caressing tenderness, her pretty looks, her graceful ways, her sweet affection.  “There were tears in her dove’s eyes when she said ‘Good-bye, Cecil, good-bye, dear!’” No other woman would ever have his heart.