vely.

"Oh, for the moment, of course, it's a case of `all for love, and the
world well lost,' but in a few days' time Miss Ramsden will return home;
they will drop out of each other's lives, and then prudence will come to
the fore. There's a girl whom he has known for years, who is built for
him all the way round. I don't say he'll like it so much, but he'll end
by marrying her like a good boy."

"By marrying her money, you mean to say? I see, we Americans aren't the
only mercenary nation in the world, though we get the credit for it
sometimes. Well! I'll wait a while, before I judge. There comes a
time in most men's lives when they forget their fine principles, and see
just one thing ahead, _and they've got to have it_! Everything else
goes down like ninepins, even if it's a real stately old mother, with
her hair fixed-up like Marie Antoinette. We'll wait and see if that
time comes along for Mr Greville!"

Guest's lip twitched with amusement.

"You seem to be very experienced on the subject."

"I am so. I've seen quite a good deal of life," said Cornelia, with the
air of a female Methuselah. She did not smirk nor giggle at the
insinuation, but accepted it placidly as a matter of course, an
occurrence of everyday happening.

Guest studied her critically, as she gazed out of the window. Was she
plain, or beautiful? It was difficult to say. The colourless
complexion, and sharply pointed nose were serious blemishes, but the
mouth was exquisite, and the hair a marvel. How Rossetti would have
gloried in painting it, unbound, with the great red-gold waves floating
over her shoulders! The eyes were good, too, despite their unusual
colour--the colour of a tawny old sherry!

As though attracted by his scrutiny, Cornelia turned her head, and let
the golden eyes dwell thoughtfully upon his face.

"Does Mr Greville do anything?" she inquired. "Has he any sort of
occupation in life?"

"He has a certain amount of business in connection with the property,
but the agent does most of that. He hunts, of course, and shoots--he's
a capital shot--and fishes at odd times. All the ordinary things that a
man does."

"Is that so? They wouldn't be ordinary with us. I like a man to work.
_You've_ got to work hard, I suppose? You're a soldier."

The quick pucker of lips and brows were almost startlingly eloquent of
pain.

"Not now! I was."

"You retired?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Rupert Guest looked across the