at Silverside?"

"Indeed we shall," he said, smiling; "which also reminds me--"

He drew from his breast-pocket a thin, flat box, turned it round and
round, glanced at her, balancing it teasingly in the palm of his hand.

"Is it for me? Really? Oh, please don't be provoking! Is it _really_ for
me? Then give it to me this instant!"

[Illustration: "Turning, looked straight at Selwyn."]

He dropped the box into the pink hollow of her supplicating palms. For a
moment she was very busy with the tissue-paper; then:

"Oh! it is perfectly sweet of you!" turning the small book bound in
heavy Etruscan gold; "whatever can it be?" and, rising, she opened it,
stepping to the window so that she could see.

Within, the pages were closely covered with the minute, careful
handwriting of her father; it was the first note-book he ever kept; and
Selwyn had had it bound for her in gold.

For an instant she gazed, breathless, lips parted; then slowly she
placed the yellowed pages against her lips and, turning, looked straight
at Selwyn, the splendour of her young eyes starred with tears.

CHAPTER VII

ERRANDS AND LETTERS

Alixe Ruthven had not yet dared tell Selwyn that her visit to his rooms
was known to her husband. Sooner or later she meant to tell him; it was
only fair to him that he should be prepared for anything that might
happen; but as yet, though her first instinct, born of sheer fright,
urged her to seek instant council with Selwyn, fear of him was greater
than the alarm caused her by her husband's knowledge.

She was now afraid of her husband's malice, afraid of Selwyn's opinion,
afraid of herself most of all, for she understood herself well enough to
realise that, if conditions became intolerable, the first and easiest
course out of it would be the course she'd take--wherever it led,
whatever it cost, or whoever was involved.

In addition to her dread and excitement, she was deeply chagrined and
unhappy; and, although Jack Ruthven did not again refer to the
matter--indeed appeared to have forgotten it--her alarm and humiliation
remained complete, for Gerald now came and played and went as he chose;
and in her disconcerted cowardice she dared not do more than plead with
Gerald in secret, until she began to find the emotion consequent upon
such intimacy unwise for them both.

Neergard, too, was becoming a familiar figure in her drawing-room; and,
though at first she detested him, his patience and unfailin