r to question
him; as though she were fighting against the desire to know his meaning.
She conquers herself by an effort.

"I have been very ill since you saw me last. You find me much altered,
do you not?"

"You look delicate," he answers, "but in my eyes," lowering his voice,
"you are as beautiful as ever."

She half-smiles, half-sighs.

"It is very kind of you to say that," she utters, "but I cannot deceive
myself. I am an old woman now; if ever I had any good looks they are
gone."

"They are _not_!" cries Lord Harford staunchly. "What I say is gospel
truth. I think your delicacy becomes you. I hate your great buxom,
dairymaid women."

Virginia smiles at his earnestness.

"Ah, if you had been mine," he goes on, "I should never have wanted to
look at another woman, young or old."

Still that strange meaning in his tone. A chill terror creeps to
Virginia's heart--she can no longer restrain herself.

"What do you mean?" she says, fixing her eyes on him. "You are hinting
at something--you want to convey something to my mind. If you are a
man--if you pretend to be my friend, speak out honestly."

He rises, and takes one or two turns in the room, then stops abruptly in
front of her.

"Will you believe me, I wonder?" he asks, "or will you think me a mean
hound who only seeks his own interest?"

"Interest?" echoes Virginia bitterly, "what interest can it be to you?"

"This much," he answers, a red flush mounting to his brow, "that I am as
anxious this moment to make you my wife as I was four years ago."

Virginia makes an impatient movement with her hand.

"Vansittart is in love with Mrs. Devereux's eldest girl, Connie. She is
a pretty little kitten of a thing, but a mere child--a doll. I go there
rather often--they are old friends of mine. Whenever I go, he is always
there."

For a moment Virginia feels as though she were dying; then, by an
extraordinary effort, she recovers herself.

"I would rather have my tongue cut out than tell you," Lord Harford
continues, half-ashamed, "only that I want you to know where your refuge
is if he breaks your heart. Oh!" imploringly, "why will you not care for
me who am ready to devote my life to you? Marry me, and let us go abroad
and win health for you and happiness for me!"

His voice is broken with emotion--he takes one of her hands in his. She
is leaning back in her chair, very white--she is hardly conscious of his
action--all the hot blood in his veins cannot