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"Tell him or not tell him?" she thought, looking into his quiet,

affectionate eyes. "He is so happy, so absorbed in his races that

he won't understand as he ought, he won't understand all the

gravity of this fact to us."

"But you haven't told me what you were thinking of when I came

in," he said, interrupting his narrative; "please tell me!"

She did not answer, and, bending her head a little, she looked

inquiringly at him from under her brows, her eyes shining under

their long lashes. Her hand shook as it played with a leaf she

had picked. He saw it, and his face expressed that utter

subjection, that slavish devotion, which had done so much to win

her.

"I see something has happened. Do you suppose I can be at peace,

knowing you have a trouble I am not sharing? Tell me, for God's

sake," he repeated imploringly.