ne of the windows that overlook the tennis court. The guests of the afternoon have gone; only the house-party remains, and still, in the dying dayl

thout a mother's care," says Miss Knollys, who has ta

al admissions!" says Lady Rylton, who has not fo

. She saw no reason why s

harply. "You know, as well as

er," says Miss Knollys, "as it leads me to hope

argaret is not as perfect as one believes her

Rylton angrily. "I have told you that often enough, I think; b

the conclusion you have in view, do you know what will happen? You will make your

are going on behind the little lace fragment pressed to her eyes. "Am not I ten times more miserable? I, who have to give my only son-as" (sobbing) "you most admirably describe it, Margaret-to such a

nollys, as civilly as she can. S

ebb. And I will save my dearest Maurice at all risks if I can, no matter what grief it costs me. Who am I"-with a picture

rgaret, rising, with a distinct frown.

ience, my dear Margaret, I have never known a woman to frown upon a man who was as handsome, as well-born, as chic as Ma

look is a cruel one, hideously cruel. Even Marian Bethune, whose bowels of compassion are extraordinary small, chang

on, enjoying the chan

ile, coming from so

eration. All that past horrible time-her lover, his unworthiness, his

n, such mere outward charms, are fools!"

with the gayest of little laughs, "would you call you

that even Lady Rylton sinks beneath it. She makes an effort to sustain her positio

ll propose to this Mi

rd. There is something

ank, but there are so few of them with money, and when there is one, her

ly," says Margaret,

o wise! It would be folly to marry a satyr-satyrs are hor

ays Margaret. "Mone

a trifle unwisely. She has been watching the play

u object to i

I object to it? I talk of ma

arriage, I assure you; I have set my mind on it. It is terrible to contemplate, but one must

yet behind the cobweb she presses to

dy Rylton's glance grows keener. "Such a mere doll of a thing. A mite!" She laughs again, but this time (havi

t she is not altogether below our level-as she certainly is-but she has refused to see my kindness. She-she's very fatiguing," says Lady Rylton, with a long-suffering sigh

ice?" ask

other airily. "And is going to give

aurice, who cares nothing for her. Marian"-Miss Knollys turns suddenly to Marian, who has withdrawn behind the curtains, as if determined

he curtains, her face a little pale, "what is my weight in t

d, rising, comes towards her. "Why don't you an

gain, why should he? Marriage, as we have been told all our lives, is but a lottery-they

e to marry this girl?"

hing," says Marian, with

mands Lady Ry

n Marian to support

ays Mrs. Bethune, her stran

t?" questions Lady

tand you," says

s her, but she waves her back. "Pray let me explain, Margaret. Our dear Marian is so intensely dull that she wants a word in

ks into it. She comes forward in a wild, tempestuous fashion, her eyes afire, her no

etty woman before her, who looks back at her with uplifted shoulders, and an all-round air of surprise and disapprobation. "You to taunt me!" says she, in a low, condensed tone. "You, who hurr

re Lady Rylton, who, in spite of the courage born of

sing her smelling-bottle to her nose, "I must ask you

he man you selected for me. What devil's life I led with him you may guess at. You knew him, I did not. I was seve

wid

ow-tha

head, as the heroine of it. The sunlight from the dying day lights up the red, rich beauty of her hair, the deadly pallor of her skin. Through it all the sound of the te

talking of? The marriage of Maurice to this little plebeian

is a litt

ld is too young and too rich! She should be given a chance; she should n

esh?" asks Lady Rylton angrily. "He of one of t

nollys calmly. "This girl has intellect, mind, a

g in for Socialistic principles, Margaret, pray do not

reat difference? You object to her marrying your son, yet you want to marry her to your son. How do you reconcile it? Surely

on't understand. She will always

hildren?" as

thune spring

ad been pale before, it is livid now. "Why, this marriage-this marriage"-she be

ooking with a gentle glance at Marian, "t

ur to her," interrup

to him," says Margaret cold

une stops her. The latter, who is leaning against the c

Oh, foolish Margaret! Do not list

r slender figure, and, hidden therein, stil

olish," cries Margare

ind her. She looks out at Margaret, still laughing. Her

at her. It is a questioning glance. "You! Do you think Maurice ought to ask

t take some step," says

o her and speaks in s

cannot

that nothing t

h his honour?" says Mrs. Bethune,

n!" says M

disgust, but Marian follows

an--" s

art full of you, do you thin

rt? Dear Margaret, don't be an enthusiast; be lik

imple; but you should think. I have always thought you-you liked Maurice, but

marry a child!" says

mea

ally," says Marian. "But that baby