g out of his life and Kitty's henceforward. And how
could <i>he</i> doubt the love shown in this clinging penitence, these soft
kisses? How would the Turk theory of marriage, please, have done any
better? Kitty had had her own wild way. No fiat from without had bound
her; but love had brought her to his feet. There was something in him
which triumphed alike in her revolt and her submission.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in the cool drawing-room to which the green <i>persiennes</i> gave
a pleasant foreign look, Lady Tranmore had been waiting for the maid's
return. She shrank from every sound in the house; from her own
reflection in Kitty's French mirrors; from her own thoughts most of all.

Lady Edith Manley--at Holland House--had been the most innocent of
gossips. A little lady who did no wrong herself--and thought no wrong of
others; as white-minded and unsuspicious as a convent child. "Poor Lady
Kitty! Something seemed to have gone wrong with the Alcots' coach, and
they were somehow divided from all their party. I can't remember exactly
what it was they said, but Mr. Cliffe was confident they would catch
their train. Though my boy--you remember my boy? they've just put him in
the eight!--thought they were running it <i>rather</i> fine."

Then, five minutes later, in the supper-room, Lady Tranmore had run
across Madeleine Alcot's husband, who had given her in passing the whole
story of the frustrated expedition--Mrs. Alcot's chill, and the despatch
of Cliffe to Hill Street. "Horrid bore to have to put it off! Hope he
got there in time to stop Lady Kitty getting ready. Oh, thanks,
Madeleine's all right."

And then no more, as the rush of the crowd swept them apart.

After that, sleep had wholly deserted Lady Tranmore--if, indeed, after
the publication of the cabinet list in the afternoon, and William's
letter following upon it, any had been still possible. And in the early
morning she had sent her note to Kitty--a <i>ballon d'essai</i>, despatched
in a horror of great fear.

"Her ladyship has not yet returned." The message from Hill Street,
delivered by the footman's indifferent mouth, struck Lady Tranmore with
trembling.

"Where is William?" she said to herself, in anguish. "I must find
him--but--what shall I say to him?" Then she went up-stairs, and,
without calling for her maid, put on her walking things with shaking
hands.

She slipped out unobserved by her household, and took a han