would
at least be very amusing. I grieve to admit it, but with Billy's
scruples she hadn't the slightest sympathy.

Then Kennaston cried, suddenly: "Why, you're mad, Kathleen! Woods
wants to marry _you!_ Why, he's heels over head in love with Miss
Hugonin!"

Miss Hugonin turned to Mr. Woods with a little intake of the breath.

No, I shall not attempt to tell you what Billy saw in her countenance.
Timanthes-like, I drape before it the vines of the summer-house. For
a brief space I think we had best betake ourselves outside,
leaving Margaret in a very pitiable state of anger, and shame, and
humiliation, and heartbreak--leaving poor Billy with a heart that
ached, seeing the horror of him in her face.

XXIII

Mrs. Saumarez laughed bitterly.

"No," she said, "Billy cared for me, you know, a long time ago. And
this morning he told me he still cared. Billy doesn't pretend to be
a clever man, you see, and so he can afford to practice some of the
brute virtues, such as constancy and fidelity."

There was a challenging flame in her eyes, but Kennaston let the stab
pass unnoticed. To do him justice, he was thinking less of himself,
just now, than of how this news would affect Margaret; and his face
was very grave and strangely tender, for in his own fashion he loved
Margaret.

"It's nasty, very nasty," he said, at length, in a voice that was
puzzled. "Yet I could have sworn yesterday----" Kennaston paused and
laughed lightly. "She was an heiress yesterday, and to-day she is
nobody. And Mr. Woods, being wealthy, can afford to gratify the
virtues you commend so highly and, with a fidelity that is most
edifying, return again to his old love. And she welcomes him--and the
Woods millions--with open arms. It is quite affecting, is it not,
Kathleen?"

"You needn't be disagreeable," she observed.

"My dear Kathleen, I assure you I am not angry. I am merely a little
sorry for human nature. I could have sworn Woods was honest. But
rogues all, rogues all, Kathleen! Money rules us in the end; and now
the parable is fulfilled, and Love the prodigal returns to make merry
over the calf of gold. Confess," Mr. Kennaston queried, with a smile,
"is it not strange an all-wise Creator should have been at pains to
fashion this brave world about us for little men and women such as
we to lie and pilfer in? Was it worth while, think you, to arch the
firmament above our rogueries, and light the ageless stars as candles
to display our an