e punishing me, too, by your refusal. I think you ought
to do what is right and what papa bids you."

"But I can't love to kiss her." And there was a great struggle in the
little soul.

"But you _can_ be sorry that you were rude."

The entreaty in the eyes almost melted him, but he said no more. She
slipped down very reluctantly, and went across to where madame was
playing chess.

"I am sorry I was rude," she said slowly. "I will kiss you now."

"You are a darling!" But for all that Madame Lepelletier longed to
shake her.

Her father received her with open arms and rapturous caresses. She gave
a little sob.

"You won't ask me again!" she cried. "I don't want anybody but just
you, now that Auntie Dora is away."

"And I want you to love me best of all. Heaven knows, my darling, how
dear you are!"

He spoke the truth. In this brief while he had grown to love her
devotedly.

Madame Lepelletier was very sweet, but she did not consider it wise to
rouse the child's opposition, since no one else could beguile favors
from her.

Before they reached New York she had allowed herself to be persuaded to
go at once to Grandon Park, and Floyd telegraphed, a little
ambiguously, used as he was to brief announcements. Madame Lepelletier
had made a half-resolve, piqued by his friendly indifference, that he
should own her charm. She would establish a footing in the family.

And now, in the quiet of the guest-chamber, where everything is more
luxurious than she has imagined, she resolves that she will win Floyd
Grandon back. She will make the mother and sisters adore her. She has
not been schooled in a French world for nothing, and yet it was not a
very satisfactory world. She will have more real happiness here; and
she sighs softly as she composes herself to sleep.

Floyd Grandon kisses his darling for the last time, then shutting his
door, sits down by the window and lights a cigar. He does not want to
sleep. Never in his life has he felt so like a prince. He has this
lovely house, and his child to watch and train, and, mayhap, some
little fame to win. He makes no moan for the dead young mother in her
grave, for he understands her too truly to desire her back, with all
her weakness and frivolity. He cannot invest her with attributes that
she never possessed, but he can remember her in the child, who shall be
true and noble and high of soul. They two, always.

Laura has fallen asleep over visions of bridal satin and lace