"Are we to go without spoons and forks then?" said Rosamond, whose very

lips seemed to get thinner with the thinness of her utterance. She was

determined to make no further resistance or suggestions.

"Oh no, dear!" said Lydgate. "But look here," he continued, drawing a

paper from his pocket and opening it; "here is Dover's account. See, I

have marked a number of articles, which if we returned them would

reduce the amount by thirty pounds and more. I have not marked any

of the jewellery." Lydgate had really felt this point of the jewellery

very bitter to himself; but he had overcome the feeling by severe

argument. He could not propose to Rosamond that she should return any

particular present of his, but he had told himself that he was bound to

put Dover's offer before her, and her inward prompting might make the

affair easy.

"It is useless for me to look, Tertius," said Rosamond, calmly; "you

will return what you please." She would not turn her eyes on the

paper, and Lydgate, flushing up to the roots of his hair, drew it back

and let it fall on his knee. Meanwhile Rosamond quietly went out of

the room, leaving Lydgate helpless and wondering. Was she not coming

back? It seemed that she had no more identified herself with him than

if they had been creatures of different species and opposing interests.

He tossed his head and thrust his hands deep into his pockets with a

sort of vengeance. There was still science--there were still good

objects to work for. He must give a tug still--all the stronger

because other satisfactions were going.

But the door opened and Rosamond re-entered. She carried the leather

box containing the amethysts, and a tiny ornamental basket which

contained other boxes, and laying them on the chair where she had been

sitting, she said, with perfect propriety in her air--

"This is all the jewellery you ever gave me. You can return what you

like of it, and of the plate also. You will not, of course, expect me

to stay at home to-morrow. I shall go to papa's."

To many women the look Lydgate cast at her would have been more

terrible than one of anger: it had in it a despairing acceptance of the

distance she was placing between them.

"And when shall you come back again?" he said, with a bitter edge on

his accent.

"Oh, in the evening. Of course I shall not mention the subject to

mamma." Rosamond was convinced that no woman could behave more

irreproachably than she was behaving; and she went to sit down at her

work-table. Lydgate sat meditating a minute or two, and the result was

that he said, with some of the old emotion in his tone--




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