frock she wore
was made in Paris or that her manners and style must have been picked up
in the best society. She sat there under the shaded lights and behind the
bank of flowers like as to the manner born, and her accent was only
sufficiently American to render her conversation piquant.

"You have always been used to this class of life?" Littimer asked.

"There you are quite mistaken," Christabel said, coolly. "For the last
few years my existence has been anything but a bed of roses. And your
remark, my lord, savours slightly of impertinent curiosity. I might as
well ask you why your family is not here."

"We agree to differ," Littimer responded. "I recollect it caused me a
great deal of annoyance at the time. And my son chose to take his
mother's part. You knew I had a son?"

"Yes," said Christabel, without looking up from the peach she was
peeling. "I have met him."

"Indeed. And what opinion did you form of my son, may I ask?"

"Well, I rather liked him. He seemed to me to be suffering from some
great trouble, and trouble I am sure that was not of his own creating."

"Which means to say you feel rather sorry for Frank. But when you say the
trouble was not of his own creating you are entirely mistaken. It is not
a nice thing to say, Miss Lee, but my son was an utter and most
unmitigated young scoundrel. If he came here he would be ordered out of
the house. So far as I am concerned, I have no son at all. He sides with
his mother, and his mother has a considerable private fortune of her own.
Where she is at the present moment I have no idea. Nor do I care. Seems
odd, does it not, that I should have been very fond of that woman at one
time, just as it seems odd to think that I should have once been fond of
treacle tart?"

Littimer spoke evenly and quietly, with his eyes full upon the girl. He
was deceiving himself, but he was not deceiving her for a moment. His
callousness seemed to be all the more marked because the servants were in
the room. But Christabel could see clearly what an effort it was.

"You love your wife still," she said, so low that only Littimer heard.
His eyes flashed, his face flamed with a sudden spasm of passion.

"Are we to quarrel so early as this?" he whispered.

"I never quarrel," Christabel said, coolly; "I leave my antagonist to do
that. But I have met your son, and I like him. He may be weak, but he is
a gentleman. You have made a mistake, and some day you will be sorry for
it. Do