urned pale.

"Why--why, I thought it was the luggage-man. Where did you come from?"
she stammered.

"From London, an hour ago. I met Mrs. Kennion on my way from the
station."

"Oh! Then she told you I am going home?"

"Yes, she told me. How could you go to America without saying
good-bye, Miss Tommy?"

She flushed and looked perilously near tears.

"I wrote to you this morning as soon as I had decided," she said. "I
don't like to dart off in this way, you can imagine, but it's a
question of must."

He did not argue this with her; that was a bridge to be crossed when a
better understanding had been reached; so, as if taking the journey as
an inexorable fact, he said: "Come out and dine with me somewhere, and
let us have a good talk."

"I'm afraid I can't. I'm eating now on a tray in my sitting-room,"--and
she waved a table napkin she was holding in her hand. "I am rather
tired, and Miss Scattergood gave me some bacon and an egg from the nest."

"Give the bacon to the cat and put back the egg in the nest," he said
coaxingly. "Mrs. Kennion said: 'Don't let her eat her last dinner
alone. Take her to the Swan.'"

"Oh, I am only in my traveling-clothes and the Swan is full of
strangers to-night."

"The Green Dragon, then, near the cathedral. You look dressed for
Buckingham Palace."

She hesitated a moment, and then melted at the eagerness of his wish.
"Well, then, if you'll wait five minutes."

"Of course; I'll go along to the corner and whistle a hansom from the
stand. Don't hurry!"

The mental processes of Miss Thomasina Tucker had been very confused
during the excitement of the last twenty-four hours.

That she loved Fergus Appleton she was well aware since the arrival of
the cablegram calling her back to America. Up to that time she had
fenced with her love--parried it, pricked it, thrust it off, drawn it
back, telling herself that she had plenty of time to meet the issue if
it came. That Fergus Appleton loved her she was also fairly well
convinced, but that fact did not always mean--everything--she told
herself, with a pitiful little attempt at worldly wisdom. Perhaps he
preferred his liberty to any woman; perhaps he did not want to settle
down; perhaps he was engaged to some one whom he didn't care for now,
but would have to marry; perhaps he hadn't money enough to share with
a wife; perhaps he was a flirt--no, she would not admit that for an
instant. Anyway, she was alone in the world, and the guar