and the matter would have been hushed up
probably but for the added sensation of Lady Hilda's elopement with him.
That set society by the ears, and the thing was the thrill of the
season. Mr. Marchant had been "all broken-up" by it, and delayed the
divorce so that as far as Burton could remember, Captain Bulteel could
not marry Lady Hilda for more than a year afterwards. All this coincided
with what I already knew. Lord Braxted too, "took on fearful," and died
of a broken heart it was said, leaving every cent to charity. The entail
had been cut in the generation before and the title became extinct at
his death.

I did not tell Burton then of my discovery, and lay long hours in the
dark, thinking and thinking.

What did the Duchesse's attitude mean? In the eyes of the Duchesse de
Courville-Hautevine, _nee_ Adelaide de Mont Orgeuil--to cheat at cards
would be the worst of all the cardinal sins. Such a man as Bobby Bulteel
must be separated from his kind. She knew Lady Hilda probably (the
Duchesse often stayed in England with my mother) and she probably felt a
disapproving pity for the poor lady. The great charity of her mind would
be touched by suffering, if the suffering was apparent, and perhaps she
had some affection for the girl Alathea. But no affection could bridge
the gulf which separated the child of an outcast from her world. The
sins of the father would inevitably be visited upon the children by an
unwritten law, and although she might love Alathea herself, she could
not countenance her union with me. The daughter of a man who had cheated
at cards should go into a convent. I instinctively felt somehow that
this would be her viewpoint.

Does Alathea know this tragedy about her father? Has she had to live
always under this curse? Oh! The pity of it all.

Morning found me more restless and miserable than I have ever been, and
it brought no sign of my love!

XVIII

George Harcourt was called suddenly to Rome that morning and so even
hearing him talk further about the Bulteels was denied me for the time.
I passed some days of the cruelest unrest. There was no sign of Alathea.
I allowed Maurice to drag me out into the world and spent my evenings
among my kind.

A number of my old pals have been killed lately, such an irony when the
war seems to be drawing to a close! There is still an atmosphere of
tension and unrestfulness in the air, though.

After an awful week George Harcourt came back and droppe