it
is now or perhaps never with me; and it is the presumption of love--a
woman should forgive that."

"They usually do, Monsieur," she replied, with a little shrug and
glance of amusement. For one bewildered instant she had lost control
of herself, and had only the desire to flee; but it was all over now,
she remembered another point to be made in the game--something to
postpone the finale until she had seen Pierson.

"It is not just to me," he said, meeting her mocking glance with one
that was steadfast and determined. "However your sentiments have
changed, I know you cared for me that day, as I have cared for you
ever since, and now that you have come here--to my own country, to my
mother's house, I surely may ask this one question: Why did you accept
the love I offered, and then toss it away almost in the same breath?"

"I may reply by another question," she said, coolly. "What right had
you to make any offers of love to me at any time? What right have you
now?"

"What right?"

"Yes; does your betrothed approve? Is that another of the free
institutions in your land of liberties?"

"What do you mean?--my betrothed?"

"Your betrothed," she said, and nodded her head with that same cool
little smile. "I heard her name that evening of the drive you remember
so well; our friend, the Countess Helene, mentioned it to me--possibly
for fear my very susceptible heart might be won by your protection of
us," and she glanced at him again, mockingly. "You had forgotten to
mention it to me, but it really does not matter, I have learned since
then that gentlemen absolutely cannot go around reciting the lists of
former conquests--it is too apt to prevent the acquisition of new
ones. I did not realize it then--there were so many things I could not
realize; and I felt piqued at your silence; but," with an expressive
little gesture and a bright smile, "I am no longer so. I come to your
home; I clasp hands with you; I meet your bride-elect, Miss
Loring--she is remarkably pretty, Monsieur, and I am quite prepared
to dance at your wedding; therefore--"

"Marquise, on my honor as a man," he did not see the scornful light in
her eyes as he spoke of his honor; "there has never been a word of
love between Gertrude Loring and myself; it is nothing but family
gossip dating from the time we were children, and encouraged by her
uncle for reasons entirely financial. We have both ignored it. We are
all fond of her, and I believe my mother