the eyes and hair that you
describe. And when I asked her who she was, she merely said that she was
the Slave of the Bond and vanished."

Colonel Berrington's _entree_ lay neglected on his plate. A deeper tinge
of melancholy than usual was on his face. It was some time before he
spoke again.

"The Slave of the Bond," he echoed. "How true, how characteristic! And
that is all you have to tell me. If you see her again----but there, you
are never likely to see her again ... I will tell you the story some
other time, not before these frivolous creatures here. It is a sad
story; to a great extent, it reminds me of your own, Miss Beatrice."

"Is mine a sad story?" Beatrice smiled and blushed. "In what way is it
sad, do you think?"

"Well, we need not go into details here," Berrington replied. "You see,
Mark Ventmore is an old friend of mine. I knew his father intimately. It
was only at Easter that we met in Rome, and, as you say, people are so
good as to regard me as worthy of confidence. Beatrice, is it too late?"

Berrington asked the question in a fierce, sudden whisper. His lean
fingers clasped over the girl's hand. Sir Charles was leaning back in
his chair talking gaily. Nobody seemed to heed the drama that was going
on in their midst. Beatrice's eyes filled with tears.

"It is a great comfort to me to know that I have so good and true a
friend," she said with her eyes cast down on her plate. "No, I do not
want any wine. Why does that waiter keep pushing that wine list of his
under my nose?"

"Then you are quite sure that it is too late?" Berrington asked again.

"My dear friend, it is inevitable," Beatrice replied. "It is a matter
of--duty. Look at my father."

Berrington glanced in the direction of Sir Charles, who was bending
tenderly over the very pretty woman on his right hand. Apparently the
baronet had not a single care in the world; his slim hand toyed with a
glass of _vintage_ claret. Berrington gave him a quick glance of
contempt.

"I do not see what Sir Charles has to do with it," he said.

"My father has everything to do with it," Beatrice said. "Does he not
look happy and prosperous! And yet you can never tell. And there was a
time when he was so very different. And the mere thought that any action
of mine would bring disgrace upon him----"

Beatrice paused as she felt Berrington's eyes upon her. The expression
of his face showed that she had said enough, and more than enough.

"I quite unders