the paper off in an instant, and disclosed a little book
bound in flexible red leather.

"'Who's Who,'" she read, looking at the title, and just then a card fell
out. She stooped and picked it up. "Why, it's from that odious French
detective! Listen, dad--'With the compliments of M. Andre Tellier, who
is sure of Mademoiselle Rushford's gratitude.'"

"Send it back to him," said her father. "Or here, give it to me--I'll go
down and smash his face with it. I ought to have kicked him out of the
house yesterday--I'd have done it but for Pelletan."

"Wait a minute, dad; here's a page turned down. Maybe there's something
he wanted me to see. Oh, yes; it's about Lord Vernon--he meant the book
for Nell--I'll call her," and she started toward the open door into the
inner room.

"Wait," said her father, instantly. "What about Vernon? Read it."

She stopped, struck by the tone of his voice.

"What do you mean, dad?" she asked, paling a little. "Surely, you don't
mean--"

"Read it," he repeated, sternly.

She opened the book with hands suddenly tremulous.

"'Vernon, fifth earl of (created 1703),'" she read, in a low voice.
"'George Henry Augustus Gardner, K. G., K. T., P. C., F. R. S., F. S.
A.; baronet 1628; Viscount Vernon, Baron Dalberry, 1710; Viscount
Cranford, 1712; Baron Vernon, 1829; trustee of Imperial Institute; born
tenth of May, 1859; son of Lord Henry Augustus Gardner, M. P., son of
fourth Earl and Mary, daughter of Richard Chaloner, Boston, U. S. A.;
married, Catherine--'"

"Married!" cried her father, and then restrained himself, though his
face turned crimson. "But go on--perhaps she's dead."

"No, she isn't dead!" said Sue, reading a line or two farther. Then she
closed the book. "I don't understand," she said, dazedly. "I can't
understand. He didn't seem that kind of man at all, dad!"

"No," said a hoarse voice from the door. "No, he didn't."

"Nell! Nellie dear!" cried Sue, and in an instant her arms were about
her.

"It--it doesn't matter," said Nell, steadying herself against the door,
striving to still a sudden convulsive shuddering. "I was a f-fool to
think he--he cared. Of course he--he was only amusing himself!" and then
her self-control suddenly gave way, and her head fell forward upon her
sister's shoulder. But only for a moment; that high queenliness was not
on the surface, merely, but in the heart, as well. "I think I'm getting
tired of Weet-sur-Mer, dad," she said, quite steadily, with