"You could not possibly do anything else," repeated Jean.
"Time for us to be going," Jem remarked presently, and he found his way to his feet; then stood for some seconds deep in thought. "One word! About what you were saying just now. Remember, that is a thing of the past."
Jean assented with a monosyllable.
"You were right to mention Mrs. Villiers' plans; but they can make no difference . . . Mrs. Villiers is nothing to me, nor I to her, beyond a pleasant acquaintanceship. Nothing further is possible—if I wished it! Her husband's will is an insuperable barrier for any poor man . . . You once found out what you were not meant to know: and now you have to forget. You must not allow yourself even to think it! That fancy is dead! Do you see? . . . Jean, may I depend upon you absolutely—never to make allusion, by word or look—?"
Jean lifted her steadfast eyes, and answered, "Yes."
Jem smiled; for such an assurance from Jean was worth many vehement declarations from ordinary people.
"That will do," he said.
"I must do what I have promised, of course—and not let myself even think of him and Evelyn together," Jean observed to herself on the steamer. "But it is one thing to say that love is dead, and another thing to make it dead. Jem seems very sure of himself. How will it be when he sees Evelyn again? . . . He calls it 'a fancy.' Was it ever only that?"
[CHAPTER III.]
AMATEUR CRITICISM.