f the girl by my side, in the smooth
movement of the carriage, and the general gaiety and color of the
broad tree-lined Champs Elysees.

"Why do you ask me to drive with you?" I asked her at length, abruptly
yet suavely. Amid the noise of the traffic we could converse with the
utmost privacy.

"Because I have something to say to you," she answered, looking
straight in front of her.

"Before you say it, one question occurs to me. You are dressed in
black; you are in mourning for Sir Cyril, your father, who is not even
buried. And yet you told me just now that you were paying a mere visit
of etiquette to my cousin Emmeline. Is it usual in Paris for ladies in
mourning to go out paying calls? But perhaps you had a special object
in calling on Emmeline."

"I had," she replied at once with dignity, "and I did not wish you to
know."

"What was it?"

"Really, Mr. Foster--"

"'Mr. Foster!'"

"Yes; I won't call you Carl any more. I have made a mistake, and it
is as well you should hear of it now. I can't love you. I have
misunderstood my feelings. What I feel for you is gratitude, not love.
I want you to forget me."

She was pale and restless.

"Rosa!" I exclaimed warningly.

"Yes," she continued urgently and feverishly, "forget me. I may seem
cruel, but it is best there should be no beating about the bush. I
can't love you."

"Rosa!" I repeated.

"Go back to London," she went on. "You have ambitions. Fulfil them.
Work at your profession. Above all, don't think of me. And always
remember that though I am very grateful to you, I cannot love
you--never!"

"That isn't true, Rosa!" I said quietly. "You have invited me into
this carriage simply to lie to me. But you are an indifferent liar--it
is not your forte. My dear child, do you imagine that I cannot see
through your poor little plan? Mrs. Sullivan Smith has been talking to
you, and it has occurred to you that if you cast me off, the anger of
that--that thing may be appeased, and I may be saved from the fate
that overtook Alresca. You were calling on Emmeline to ask her advice
finally, as she appears to be mixed up in this affair. Then, on seeing
me, you decided all of a sudden to take your courage in both hands,
and dismiss me at once. It was heroic of you, Rosa; it was a splendid
sacrifice of your self-respect. But it can't be. Nothing is going to
disturb my love. If I die under some mysterious influence, then I die;
but I shall die loving you, and I shall