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lost his relish for Pamela's lighter talk; in fact, he seemed to



turn to her with some relief--perhaps it is refreshing to

escape from self-analysis, even when the process is conducted in



the pleasantest possible manner--and the hours which Miss Liston

gave to work were devoted by Chillington to maintaining his



cordial relations with the lady whose comfortable and not over-

tragical disposal was taxing Miss Liston's skill. For she had



definitely decided all her plot--she told me so a few days later.

It was all planned out; nay, the scene in which the truth as to



his own feelings bursts on Sir Gilbert (I forget at the moment

what name the novel gave him) was, I understood, actually



written; the shallow girl was to experience nothing worse than a

wound to her vanity, and was to turn, with as much alacrity as



decency allowed, to the substitute whom Miss Liston had now

provided. All this was poured into my sympathetic ear, and I say



sympathetic in all sincerity; for, although I may occasionally

treat Miss Liston's literary efforts with less than proper



respect, she herself was my friend, and the conviction under

which she was now living would, I knew, unless it were



justified, bring her into much of that unhappiness in which one

generally found her heroine plunged about the end of Volume II.



The heroine generally got out all right, and the knowledge that

she would enabled the reader to preservecheerfulness. But would



poor little Miss Liston get out? I was none too sure of it.

Suddenly a change came in the state of affairs. Pamela produced



it. It must have struck her that the increasing intimacy of Miss

Liston and Chillington might become something other than "funny."



To put it briefly and metaphorically, she whistled her dog back

to her heels. I am not skilled in understanding or describing



the artifices of ladies; but even I saw the transformation in

Pamela. She put forth her strength and put on her prettiest



gowns; she refused to take her place in the sea-saw of society

which Chillington had recently established for his pleasure. If



he spent an hour with Miss Liston, Pamela would have nothing

of him for a day; she met his attentions with scorn unless they



were undivided. Chillington seemed at first puzzled; I believe

that he never regarded his talks with Miss Liston in other than a



business point of view, but directly he understood that Pamela

claimed him, and that she was prepared, in case he did not obey



her call, to establish a grievance against him, he lost no time

in manifesting his obedience. A whole day passed in which, to my



certain knowledge, he was not alone a moment with Miss Liston,

and did not, save at the family meals, exchange a word with her.



As he walked off with Pamela, Miss Liston's eyes followed him in

wistful longing; she stole away upstairs and did not come down



till five o'clock. Then, finding me strolling about with a

cigarette, she joined me.



"Well, how goes the book?" I asked.

"I haven't done much to it just lately," she answered, in a low



voice. "I--it's--I don't quite know what to do with it."

"I thought you'd settled?"



"So I had, but--oh, don't let's talk about it, Mr. Wynne!"

But a moment later she went on talking about it.



"I don't know why I should make it end happily," she said. "I'm

sure life isn't always happy, is it?"



"Certainly not," I answered. "You mean your man might stick to

the shallow girl after all?"



"Yes," I just heard her whisper.

"And be miserable afterward?" I pursued.



"I don't know," said Miss Liston. "Perhaps he wouldn't."

"Then you must make him shallow himself."



"I can't do that," she said quickly. "Oh, how difficult it is!"

She may have meant merely the art of writing--when I cordially



agree with--but I think she meant also the way of the world--

which does not make me withdraw my assent. I left her walking up



and down in front of the drawing-room windows, a rather

forlorn little figure, thrown into distinctness by the cold



rays of the setting sun.

All was not over yet. That evening Chillington broke away. Led



by vanity, or interest, or friendliness, I know not which--tired

may be of paying court (the attitude in which Pamela kept him),






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