e smart crowd of Parisians who were
laughing and chatting.

"Of what?"

He hesitated for a second. In that hesitation the girl who loved him
so fondly, and who preferred him to old Drumone's son and a title,
realized that he had some heavy weight upon his mind, and quickly she
resolved to learn it, and try to bear the burden with him.

Since her return from China, with all its Asiatic mysteries, its
amusements, and its quaint Eastern life, she had had what she declared
to be a "topping" time in London. Her beauty was remarked everywhere
and her sweet charm of manner appealed to all. Her mother, who had
returned from her exile in the Far East, went everywhere, while her
father, a hard, austere Colonial official who had browsed upon
reports, and regarded all natives of any nationality or culture as
mere "blacks," was one of those men who had never been able to
assimilate his own views with those of the nation to which he had been
sent as British representative. He was a hide-bound official, a man
who despised any colored race, and treated all natives with stern and
unrelenting hand. Indeed, the Colonial Office had discovered him to be
a square peg in a round hole, and at Whitehall they were relieved when
he went into honorable retirement.

"Do tell me what's the matter, dear," whispered the girl across the
table, hoping that the pair seated near them did not know English.

"The matter! Why, nothing," again laughed the handsome young man.
"Have a liqueur," and he ordered two from the waiter. "I can't think
what you've got into your head to-night regarding me, Peggy. I was
only reflecting for a few seconds--on some business."

"Grave business--it seems."

"Not at all. But we men who have to earn our living by business have
to think overnight what we are to do on the morrow," he said airily,
as he handed his cigarette-case to her and then lit the one she took.

"But Charlie--I'm certain there's something--something you are
concealing from me."

"I conceal nothing from you, dearest," he answered, looking across the
little table straight into her fine dark eyes. Then again he bent
towards her and whispered very seriously: "Do you really love me,
Peggy?"

In his glance was a tense eager expression, yet upon his face was
written a mystery she could not fathom.

"Why do you ask, dear?" she said. "Have I not told you so a hundred
times. What I have said, I mean."

"You really mean--you really mean that you love me-