ere is real anguish in her tone, her
face has grown white as death--"Maurice, come back." She holds out
her arms to him. "Oh--darling, do not let your mother come between
us! That girl--she will _make_ you marry that girl. She has money,
whereas I--what am I? A mere castaway on life's sea! Yes, yes." She
covers her face with her hands in a little paroxysm of despair.
"Yes," faintly, "you will marry that girl."

"Well, why not?" sullenly. He is as white as she is--his face is
stern. "If she will deign to accept me. I have not so far," with a
bitter laugh, "been very successful in love affairs."

"Oh! _How_ can you say that--and to me?"

She bursts into tears, and in a moment he has her in his arms. His
beautiful darling! He soothes her, caresses her, lets her weave the
bands of her fascination over him all fresh again.

It is only afterwards he remembers that through all her grief and
love she had never so forgotten herself as to promise to exile
herself for his sake in a foreign land.

CHAPTER V.

SHOWING HOW, WHEN PEOPLE DO CONGREGATE TOGETHER, MUCH KNOWLEDGE MAY
BE FOUND, AND HOW THE LITTLE HOYDEN HAD SOME KIND THINGS SAID ABOUT
HER.

"Game and set," cries Tita at the top of her young voice, from the
other end the court. It would be useless to pretend she doesn't
_shout_ it. She is elated--happy. She has won. She tears off the
little soft round cap that, defiant of the sun, she wears, and
flings it sky-high, catching it deftly as it descends upon the top
of her dainty head, a _little_ sideways. Her pretty, soft, fluffy
hair, cut short, and curled all over her head by Mother Nature, is
flying a little wildly across her brows, her large gray eyes (that
sometimes are so nearly black) are brilliant. Altogether she is just
a little, a _very_ little, pronounced in her behaviour. Her
opponents, people who have come over to The Place for the day,
whisper something to each other, and laugh a little. After all, they
have lost--perhaps they are somewhat spiteful. Lady Rylton, sitting
on the terrace above, bites her lips. What an impossible girl! and
yet how rich! Things must be wrong somewhere, when Fate showers
money on such a little ill-bred creature.

"How funny she is!" says Mrs. Chichester, who is sitting near Lady
Rylton, a guest at The Place in this house-party, this last big
entertainment, that is to make or mar its master. Lady Rylton had
organized it, and Sir Maurice, who never contradicted her, and