“Indeed it does.  It affects me so far, that it alters the whole course of my life.  In spite of everything that has seemed to come between us, I have never allowed myself to think of our engagement as at an end.  The parcel you sent me the other day is unopened; if you do not open it yourself no one ever shall.  Whatever you may do, I cannot break faith.  You ought to know me better than to misinterpret a few foolish and hasty words, and appearances that had a meaning you should have understood.  The time has come now for putting an end to those misconceptions.”

“They no longer concern me.  Please to speak of something else.”

“You must, at all events, understand my position before we part.  This morning I was as firmly resolved as ever to risk everything, to renounce the aid of my relatives if it must be and face poverty for the sake of art.  Now all is changed.  I shall accept my step-father’s offer, and all its results becoming, if it can’t be helped, a mere man of business.  I do this because of my sacred duties to you.  As an artist, there’s no telling how long it might be before I could ask you again to be my wife; as a man of business, I may soon be in a position to do so.  Don’t interrupt me, I entreat!  It is no matter to me if you repulse me now, in your anger.  I consider the engagement as still existing between us, and, such being the ease, it is plainly my duty to take such steps as will enable me to offer you a home.  By remaining an artist, I should satisfy one part of my conscience, but at the expense of all my better feelings; it might even he supposed—­though, I trust, not by you—­that I made my helplessness an excuse for forgetting you when most you needed kindness.  I shall go back to England, and devote myself with energy to the new task, however repulsive it may prove.  Whether you think of me or not, I do it for your sake; you cannot rob me of that satisfaction.  Some day I shall again stand before you, and ask you for what you once promised.  If then you refuse—­well, I must bear the loss of all my hopes.”

“You may direct your life as you choose,” Madeline replied scornfully, “but you will please to understand that I give you no encouragement to hope anything from me.  I almost believe you capable of saying, some day, that you took this step because I urged you to it.  I have no interest whatever in your future; our paths are separate.  Let this be the end of it.”

But it was very far from the end of it.  When the carriage stopped at Mrs. Gluck’s, mutual reproaches were at their height.

“You shall not leave me yet, Madeline,” said Clifford, as he alighted.  “Come to the other side of the road, and let us walk along for a few minutes.  You shall not go in, if I have to hold you by force.”

Madeline yielded, and in the light of the moon they walked side by side, continuing their dialogue.

“You are heartless!  You have played with me from the first.”