ings! "He
kissed me in the public street. He loved me"... Well, he had called out
"Zuleika!" and every one around had heard him. That was something. But
how glad all the old women in the world would be to shake their heads
and say "Oh, no, my dear, believe me! It wasn't anything to do with HER.
I'm told on the very best authority," and so forth, and so on. She knew
he had told any number of undergraduates he was going to die for her.
But they, poor fellows, could not bear witness. And good heavens!
If there were a doubt as to the Duke's motive, why not doubts as to
theirs?... But many of them had called out "Zuleika!" too. And of course
any really impartial person who knew anything at all about the matter at
first hand would be sure in his own mind that it was perfectly absurd to
pretend that the whole thing wasn't entirely and absolutely for her...
And of course some of the men must have left written evidence of their
intention. She remembered that at The MacQuern's to-day was a Mr.
Craddock, who had made a will in her favour and wanted to read it aloud
to her in the middle of luncheon. Oh, there would be proof positive as
to many of the men. But of the others it would be said that they died
in trying to rescue their comrades. There would be all sorts of silly
far-fetched theories, and downright lies that couldn't be disproved...

"Melisande, that crackling of tissue paper is driving me mad! Do leave
off! Can't you see that I am waiting to be undressed?"

The maid hastened to her side, and with quick light fingers began to
undress her. "Mademoiselle va bien dormir--ca se voit," she purred.

"I shan't," said Zuleika.

Nevertheless, it was soothing to be undressed, and yet more soothing
anon to sit merely night-gowned before the mirror, while, slowly and
gently, strongly and strand by strand, Melisande brushed her hair.

After all, it didn't so much matter what the world thought. Let the
world whisper and insinuate what it would. To slur and sully, to
belittle and drag down--that was what the world always tried to do.
But great things were still great, and fair things still fair. With no
thought for the world's opinion had these men gone down to the water
to-day. Their deed was for her and themselves alone. It had sufficed
them. Should it not suffice her? It did, oh it did. She was a wretch to
have repined.

At a gesture from her, Melisande brought to a close the rhythmical
ministrations, and--using no tissue paper