minute during which she was horribly conscious that her changing
countenance might readily have betrayed to any looker-on how deeply
she felt this unexpected blow.

"I wrote to General ---- on the night I saw you last, accepting his
offer," Clare answered. "Of course I am in duty bound, therefore, to
report in Cairo as soon as possible."

"And you will sell Claremont?"

"I have no alternative."

She said nothing more, but he saw her hand--the same white jeweled
hand that had gleamed on his arm in the starlight--go to her throat
with a quick, convulsive movement. Instead of the thrill of repulsion
which he had felt before, a sudden sense of pity and regret came over
him now. He was not enough of a puppy to feel a certain keen enjoyment
and gratified vanity in the realization of this woman's folly. He
appreciated, on the contrary, how entirely she had been a spoiled
child of fortune all her life--a queen-regnant, to whom all things
must submit themselves--and he felt how bitter must be this first
sharp proof of her own impotence to secure the toy on which she had
set her heart. It was these thoughts which made his voice almost
gentle when he spoke again: "You must not think that I am ungrateful
for your kind interest in my behalf. You can imagine, perhaps, how
much I hate to part with Claremont, which has been the seat of my
family for generations; but when a thing must be done there is no use
in making a moan over it. I cannot sacrifice my life to a tradition
of the past; and that would be what I should do if I clung to the old
place, instead of cutting loose with one sharp stroke and swimming
boldly out to sea."

"But you might stay if you would," said she with that tremulous accent
which the French call "tears in the voice."

"No, I could _not_ stay," said Clare resolutely. "I have no money, nor
any means of making any in America."

This ended the discussion. Even Mrs. Lancaster, fast and daring and
willful as she was, could not say, "_I_ have money--more than I know
what to do with: take it." Her eyes said as much, but Clare did not
look at her eyes. A minute longer passed in embarrassed silence. Then
somebody came up, and Victor was able to walk away. As he crossed the
room he saw Eleanor Milbourne for the first time since his arrival.
He had not even inquired if she was still at The Willows, and her
unexpected appearance, for he had begun to fear that she was gone,
filled him with a rush of feelings of whi