horror of this meeting that must be.

The announcement seems to galvanize them all into life. Mr. Lamotte
looks up with a gleam of latent anticipation in his eyes; Frank smiles
his pleasure; and John Burrill steals a deprecatory glance at a mirror,
smoothes a wrinkle out of his waistcoat, and outsmiles Frank. Here is
another triumph; he is about to be introduced to the richest girl in the
country; to meet her on an equal footing, in the character of husband to
her dearest friend.

Sybil rises and goes to the window; her pale face flushing. There is a
rolling of wheels, a sound of swift, firm footsteps without, and then
the door opens, and Constance is announced.

She follows her name in her usual free, at home fashion, and in a moment
is kissing Sybil, shaking hands with Mrs. Lamotte, exchanging smiling
salutations with Mr. Lamotte, and gay badinage with Francis. And then,
while Sybil still hesitates, Evan comes to the rescue.

With a face of preternatural gravity, he advances, seizes the arm of
John Burrill, drags him toward Constance, and says, with elaborate
politeness:

"Constance, allow me to present my new brother-in-law, Mr. Burrill.
Brother-in-law, this is Miss Wardour, of Wardour Place."

In spite of themselves, they smile; all except Sybil. John Burrill feels
that somehow, he is made ridiculous; that another man in his place would
not have been thus introduced. But the eyes of the heiress are upon his
face, her daintily gloved hand is proffered him, and she lies in her
softest contralto, and unblushingly:

"I am happy to know you, Mr. Burrill."

[Illustration: "I am happy to know you."]

Somehow, they all breathe freer after that pretty falsehood. John
Burrill regains his composure, and relapses into his former state of
comfortable gloating. Another face is added to the circle of high-bred
people around him. He does not talk much, for he is not yet quite at his
ease when in conversation with them. As they talk, he thinks what a fine
nest this is which he has gained for himself; what a lovely woman is his
wife; and how splendidly handsome is Miss Wardour. He thinks how, by and
by, he will boast to some of his choice spirits, of his friendship for
Miss Wardour, and of the value in which she holds his esteem. He thinks
how good is the Lamotte cook, and how, presently, he will sample the
Lamotte wines, and smoke a splendid segar; and then he pricks up his
ears and listens, for the conversation has drif