tation to
Brookfield.

'And are you going down to Galway to stay with them?'

'Of course not. How can you ask such a question?'

'And why not--why shouldn't you go? I wish you would,' she added; and
the light in her grey eyes was malign.

'You're joking? You surely don't mean what you say. I thought you said
you loved me.'

'Yes, my dear Harry, that is the very reason. We love each other,
therefore I know I can trust you.'

He pressed the hand--the silken skin, the palm delicately moist--in
recognition of her kind words.

'I wouldn't go for anything in the world. I hate those people. 'Pon my
word, I don't think anything would tempt me to spend a week with them in
the country.'

'Yes; I could.'

The Marquis laughed. 'Yes, you could--you could tempt me to do anything.
But why should you want me to go and spend a week with them in Galway?'

'Because, dear, they were rude to me; because,' she added, casting down
her eyes--'because they tried to buy you from me. That is why I should
like to humiliate them.'

The enchantment of the Marquis was completed, and he said:

'What, a whole week away from you! a whole week with Mrs. Barton! I
could not endure it.'

'What, not for my sake?'

'Anything for your sake, darling.' He clasped her in his arms, and then
they lapsed into silence that to him was even sweeter than the kiss she
had given him. Love's deepest delight is the ineffable consciousness of
our own weakness. We drink the sweetened cup in its entirety when,
having ceased to will, we abandon ourselves with the lethal languors of
the swimmer to the vague depths of dreams. And it was past midnight when
the Marquis left Fitzwilliam Place. The ladies accompanied him
downstairs; their hands helped him to his hat and coat, and then the
lock slipped back sharply, and in the gloom, broken in one spot by the
low-burning gas, the women wondered.

'Oh, mamma, mamma, mamma! I am so happy!' the girl exclaimed, and,
weeping passionately, she threw herself for rest upon Mrs. Scully's
arms.

'Yes, my child; you have been very good, you have made me very happy.
You'll be a marchioness. Who would have thought I'd have lived to see
all this honour when I served in the little shop at Galway!'

At the mention of the shop Violet recovered her composure, and mother
and daughter listened to the receding footfalls.

'I wonder if he is happy,' Violet murmured; 'as happy as I am. For I do
like him. He is a good sort.'

'You