nd the ensuing constraint. Perhaps some compunction
moved her to add in a voice not entirely steady:

"And so you think--of going back to France?"

"To France!" he repeated, quickly. "No"--and stopped.

Looking up, a half-questioning light in her eyes took flight to his,
until suddenly arrested by the hard, set expression of his features.
Abruptly chilled by she knew not what, her lashes fell. The horses
champed their bits and tugged at the reins, impatient of the prolonged
pause.

"Let us go!" she said in a low, constrained voice.

At her words he turned, the harshness dropping from his face like a
discarded mask; the lines of determination wavering.

"Let us go!" she said again, without looking up.

He made no motion to obey, until the sound of a vehicle behind them
seemed to break the spell and mechanically he touched the horses with
the whip.

CHAPTER IV

LEAR AND JULIET

Susan dismissed her admirers at the races with some difficulty,
especially the tenacious marquis, who tenderly squeezed her hand,
saying:

"Were I twenty years younger, I would not thus be set aside."

"Fie, Marquis!" she returned. "These other people are dull, while you
are charmingly wicked."

"You flatter me," he cackled, detaining her, to the impatience of the
thick-set man who was waiting to escort the young woman back to town.
"But do you notice the gentleman over there with the medals?"

"The distinguished-looking man?" asked Susan.

"Yes; that is the Count de Propriac. It was he who was one of the
agents of Louis Philippe in the Spanish double marriage plot. It was
arranged the queen should marry her cousin, and her sister the son of
Louis Philippe. The queen and her cousin were not expected to have
children--but had them, to spite us all, and Louis Philippe's projects
for the throne of Spain failed disastrously."

"How inconsiderate of the queen! Good afternoon, marquis! I have been
vastly entertained."

"And I"--kissing her hand--"enamored!" Then, chuckling: "A week ago my
stupid doctors had me laid out in funereal dignity, and now I am
making love to a fine woman. Pretty pouting lips!"--tapping her chin
playfully--"Like rose-buds! Happy the lover who shall gather the dew!
But we meet again, Mistress Susan?"

"That will depend upon you, marquis," answered Susan, coquettishly, as
a thought flashed through her mind that it would not be unpleasant to
be called "Marquise," or "Marchioness"--she did not quite kn