turned round and smiled, not a happy, joyful smile as before, but

in a frightened, piteous way. The smile seemed to tell him that

what he was doing was wrong. He stopped for a moment. There was

still the possibility of a struggle. The voice of his real love

for her, though feebly, was still speaking of her, her feelings,

her life. Another voice was saying, "Take care I don't let the

opportunity for your own happiness, your own enjoyment, slip by!"

And this second voice completely stifled the first. He went up to