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 other kind of way. I am an old fogey, nothing else. You've both of you been kind to me to-night, but in the morning, when ordinary life begins again, you'll soon see what a stuffy old thing I am. No, no. Think of me as your uncle. But don't miss—oh, don't miss!—the love of a man like Dunbar. There's so little of that unselfish devoted love in the world, and when it comes to you it's a crime to miss it."

"But you can't force yourself to love any one!" she cried, sharply.

"No, you can't force yourself, but it's strange what seeing new qualities in some one, looking at some one from another angle, will do. Try and look at him as though you'd met him for the first time, forget that you've known him always. I tell you that he's one in a million!"

"Yes, he's good," she answered softly. "He's been wonderful to me always. If he'd been less wonderful perhaps—I don't know, perhaps I'd have loved him more. But why are we talking about it? Aren't I married as it is?"

"Oh that!" He made a little gesture of repulsion. "We must get rid of that at once."

"It won't be very difficult," she answered, dropping her voice to a whisper. "He hasn't been faithful to me—even during these weeks."

He put his arm round her and held her close