"Dear Miss Briskett,—I was disappointed to miss seeing you when I called at your hotel on Saturday. My aunt, Lady Seymour, is giving a reception to-morrow afternoon, and would be delighted to see you and your friends, if you have nothing better on hand. There ought to be some pretty good music. I will call at three o'clock, on the chance that you may care to come.—Yours faithfully, Rupert Guest."

Enclosed was a formal card of invitation, dated from Grosvenor Gate, "Miss Briskett and party" written on the corner.

Cornelia sat banked up against her pillows, her ruddy locks framing her little face in a glory of rippling curls and waves, her lips pursed in slow reflection.

"No-o! I guess Miss Briskett and party would rather not! I don't see the fun of squeezing in among a lot of grandees, who don't want anything of us but just to quiz and stare, and make remarks. If he'd asked me alone, I'd have risked it, just to see how they manage their shows over here; but he's too proper to take me without a chaperon, and ... Well, anyway, the Moffatts are right-down good to me, and I'll have no hand in having them snubbed! Miss Briskett will politely refuse, and the party won't have a chance of accepting, for they won't be told anything about it. I hate a fuss."

Cornelia went downstairs, deciding to write a letter before going out, and post it to the club; but during breakfast Mrs Moffatt announced with profuse apologies that she and her husband were obliged to devote the afternoon to visiting a friend living at some distance from town, and must therefore leave her to her own resources. Perhaps she would like to do a little shopping on her own account, take a drive, or visit a gallery! Cornelia, with a sudden rising of spirits, guessed she could find a dozen things to do, and bade her friends feel no anxiety on her score. She wrote no letters that morning, but sallied forth on the inevitable shopping excursion, with a particularly gay and jaunty air, and an inclination to bubble into laughter on the slightest provocation, at which Mrs Moffatt exclaimed in envy—

"My, what spirits you do enjoy! I wish I could laugh like that. Some people have all the luck!" She sighed as she spoke, and Cornelia, glancing at her, caught a haggard look beneath the white veil. It occurred to her for the first time that her hostess was no longer young. She wondered how she would look at night, denuded of powder and rouge, and luxuriant golden locks? An elderly woman, thin and worn, with the crow's feet deepening round her eyes. A woman whose life was spent in the pursuit of personal gain, and who reaped in return the inevitable harvest of weariness and satiety. Cornelia was too happy to judge her harshly. She was sorry for her and made a point of being unusually amiable during the long hours of trailing about from shop to shop, which were beginning to be a severe tax on her patience. Mrs Moffatt never seemed to make a purchase outright, but preferred to pay half a dozen visits to a shop, trying on garment or ornament, as the case might be, haggling over the price, and throwing small sops to the vendor, in the shape of the purchase of insignificant trifles.

Cornelia herself was tempted to buy a number of articles which she neither needed nor knew exactly how to use, partly from want of something to do while her companion was occupied, and partly from a sense of shame, at giving so much trouble for nothing. Every day, also, boxes of fineries were sent "on approval," to the hotel, so that one seemed to live in a constant atmosphere of milliner's shop. Cornelia wondered to what purpose was this everlasting dressing up. The dejected Silas could hardly count as an audience, since he was the most indifferent of husbands, and it seemed a poor reward for so much trouble to receive the passing glances of strangers.

"I hope when I settle down, I'll have some real interest in life. I'll take care that I have, too! I'd go crazed if there was nothing more to it than hanging round stores all the time," said Cornelia to herself, as she bade farewell to her friends after lunch, and settled herself with a book in the corner of the lounge, to await Guest's arrival. She was pleased at the prospect of meeting him again; mischievously amused at the anticipation of his embarrassment when he found that her chaperons had fled. It would be a delightful change to chat with him for half an hour, and when he departed to listen to the "pretty good music," she herself would get into a hansom and drive to Saint Paul's to listen to the wonderful boys' voices chanting the evening service. Cathedrals were not included in the London known to Mrs Silas P Moffatt, but Cornelia was determined not to leave the metropolis without visiting the great temple of the East. After four days of pure, undiluted Moffatt, she felt mentally and spiritually starved. It would be good to leave the world and sit apart awhile beneath the great dome...

At five minutes past three by the clock, Guest appeared in the doorway of the hotel, made an inquiry of the porter, and was directed to Cornelia's sheltered seat. She saw him cast a glance over her neat, walking costume, as he approached, and naughtily determined to prolong his uncertainty. On her own side, she honestly admired his appearance; compared him to his advantage with the other men in the hall, and was proud to welcome him as her friend. Her little, white face was sparkling with animation, as she held out her hand to greet him.

"How d'you do, Captain Guest? It's real good of you to come again so soon. I was sorry to miss you Saturday afternoon."

"So was I." Guest seated himself, and deposited his hat carefully by his side. "I waited half an hour, and then gave it up, and went to loaf in the Park. It's the only thing to do before dinner."

"I saw you there, standing on the sidewalk talking to two ladies, an old one, and a young one, as pretty as—"

"A moss rose!" he suggested quickly, and they laughed together over the remembrance. "Were you driving? I wish I had seen you! Is—er—Mrs Moffatt quite well?"

"Puffectly, thank you," said Cornelia, calmly. She noted the quick glance around, and wondered if he felt it compromising to sit with her alone, even in the publicity of a hotel lounge. "We drive most afternoons, and go to the theatre every evening. I'm having a giddy time—just about as different from Norton as it's possible to imagine! Have you heard anything from the Manor? That wretched girl has never sent me as much as a postal, and I'm dying to hear what's going on."

"No. I've heard nothing. I never for a moment expected that I should. Greville is too much engaged." Guest knitted his brows, bitched his trousers at the knee, and cleared his throat uncertainly. Cornelia divined that he was waiting for her to refer to his aunt's invitation, and feeling somewhat at a loss to account for the severity of her costume. At last the question came out suddenly.

"Er—you got my note?"

"I did! I thank you for it. It was real kind of good to take the trouble. I suppose you had to go and ask for those invitations?"

"I asked, of course, but my aunt was delighted to give them. It will be quite worth going to, I think—good music, and something of a function! You would enjoy seeing the people. I hope you are not going to say that you can't come!"

"What makes you think that, I wonder? Don't I look smart enough? I'm sorry you don't approve of my costume!" She sat up straight in her seat; a smart little hat perched on the top of shaded locks; a neat little stock beneath the rolled-back collar of her coat; minute little shoes, with ridiculous points, appearing beneath the hem of her skirt. Guest looked her over deliberately, his dark face softening into a very charming smile.

"I do! Very much indeed!"

"Maybe it's a trifle homely, but it's best to strike a balance. Mrs Moffatt's apt to be a bit gaudy on these occasions."

"It is very good of her to take so much trouble. Is—er—is she nearly ready, do you know?"

Cornelia had been narrowly on the watch for the flicker of dismay on Guest's face; it came surely enough, but was suppressed by such a gallant effort that, to use her own vernacular, she "weakened" at the sight. The impish light died out of her eyes, and she said frankly—

"I guess I've been jollying all the time! Mrs Moffatt's gone with her husband to visit a friend who lives quite a good way out, and she won't be back before seven. I didn't tell her of your invitation, as her plans were made, so it wasn't worth while. I'm 'alone in London' for the afternoon. Sounds kinder pathetic, don't it; but I'm enjoying it very well."

"Then—er—am I to have the pleasure of taking you alone?"

Cornelia threw him a glance of tragic reproach.

"Captain Guest! I'm surpr-iz-ed! How dare you take advantage of my unprotected position, to make such a suggestion? In England young girls—nice young girls, do not go about with young gentlemen unchaperoned. I'm shocked at you! I should have believed you would have been more considerate!"

"We could start early. I could introduce you to my aunt. She would find some ladies, with whom you could sit during the concert."

Cornelia made a grimace, the reverse of appreciative.

"No, thank you; I guess not! I'm not over-fond of sitting with ladies at any time, but strange ones are the limit. You tell your aunt that it's real kind of her, and I vury much regret that I don't want to go. I've fixed-up just how I'm going to spend the afternoon. First, I'm going to give you some coffee—the waiter's bringing it along—then, when you go off to your crush, I shall get into a hansom and drive away into the City, to Saint Paul's. The service is at four. I'll sit right by myself, and listen till that's over, then I'll go round and see the tombs. Quite a number of big people are buried there, I'm told."

"Saint Paul's!" Guest's tone was eloquent of amazement. "But why Saint Paul's, of all places on earth? Why not hit on something livelier, while you are about it? There's a splendid exhibition of paintings in Bond Street, and the Academy, of course, and the Wallace Collection— half a dozen shows which are worth seeing. Why go into the City on a day like this?"

"Because I want to! I've had four days cram full of—" She hesitated, seeking for a word that would not incriminate her hosts—"of fuss, and I want something else for a change. From all I hear, Saint Paul's is a kinder big, and soothing, and empty. You can sit and think without being jostled up against someone else all the time. I don't suppose there's a more sociable creature on earth than I am myself, but every now and then I've just got to get away and have things out by myself."

Guest sipped his coffee in thoughtful silence, glancing at Cornelia from time to time, with eyes full of a new diffidence. An impulse gripped him, an impulse so extraordinary that he hesitated to put it into words. He wanted to go to Saint Paul's too; to drive beside Cornelia through the streets, to see her face as she sat in the dim old cathedral; that softened, tremulous face, of which he had caught a glimpse once before, the memory of which lived with him still. When the service was over, he wanted to be her guide, to climb with her the tortuous staircase, and look down on the ant-like figures in the streets below; to descend with her to the subterranean vaults. ... He, Rupert Guest, wished to visit Saint Paul's on a grilling June afternoon, in preference to attending a fashionable rendezvous—what madness was this which possessed him? It was rank folly; he would be ashamed to put the request into words. Pshaw! it was only the impulse of a moment—he would never think of it again. Then he looked at Cornelia once more, and heard himself say, in deliberate tones—

"May I come with you? I should not interrupt. If you prefer, I could sit in another place during the service, but I'd like to come. Afterwards we could go round together. It would be good of you to give me the chance."

"But—the reception?"

"Oh, hang the reception! I'm not sure that I should go in any ease. Do let me come, Miss Briskett. I want to. Badly!"

Cornelia hesitated, staring at him with puzzled eyes.

"You seemed to think Saint Paul's a pretty queer choice when I mentioned it a few minutes back!"

"I did; more shame to me, I suppose; but then you explained your reasons.—I don't pretend that I should care to go by myself, but if you take me as your companion, it might be good for me, too. ... Would it disturb you to have me there?"

"No-o," said Cornelia, slowly. "I'd as lief you were there as not! I feel differently since I heard that story. ... You must need heartening up sometimes. Let's go right along then, and see if we ken't lay in a store of good thoughts, that will help us along for quite a while. Will you order a cab?" ...

Guest walked in silence to the door of the hotel. By his own request he was going to attend a church afternoon service with Cornelia Briskett! The thing seemed too extraordinary to be believed! He took his seat in the hansom in a kind of stunned surprise. Truly, every man was a stranger to himself, and there was no foretelling what an hour might bring forth!

Cornelia turned to survey herself in the slip of mirror, and carefully adjusted the set of her hat.

"Say!" she cried, laughingly, "we've forgotten that chaperon! Suppose you think one's not needed in a cathedral." She paused, dimpling mischievously. "Well! that's just as you're made. I guess if I were set on it, I could flirt in a crypt!"



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Captain Guest could not flatter himself that Cornelia was in anyway "set on" flirting with himself, since nothing could have been further removed from that attitude than her behaviour during the afternoon. She displayed a keen interest in her first view of the Strand and Fleet Street, and though her criticisms of those ancient thoroughfares were the reverse of complimentary, she was evidently impressed by the vast solemnity of the cathedral itself. The usual congregation of stragglers were dotted about on the chairs in the nave; dreary-looking derelicts from God knows where, who drift in through the open doorways seeking refuge from heat in summer, and cold in winter, and listen with apathetic indifference to the passing services. Guest seated himself by Cornelia's side at the end of an unoccupied row, but for all the notice she paid him, he might as well have been at his aunt's reception miles away. Only once, as the boys' voices soared upwards in a strain of almost unearthly sweetness, did she turn her face towards him, in involuntary appeal for sympathy, and at that moment there could no longer be any doubt as to her looks. She was beautiful; so beautiful that Guest was dazzled by the sight of the white, kindled face.

The service was an unmitigated success; an hour to cherish in memory, but in the sight-seeing expedition which followed, there was no denying the fact that Cornelia jarred! Even the most phlegmatic of Englishmen must be roused to a feeling of pride by such a review of the deeds of his countrymen as is set forth in a national cathedral; it may be even conceded that his attitude may be a trifle irritating to strangers from distant lands; be that as it may Guest and Cornelia seemed fated to view everything from different points of view. Where he waxed enthusiastic, she displayed cool commonsense; when he stood dumb, she criticised the design of the sculpture, and speculated as to the cost; she guessed it was "playing it pretty low down on Wellington to stow him away in a cellar," and made scathing remarks by Gordon's memorial. "You muffed it badly that time! Guess if he'd belonged to us, he'd have been hopping round still!"

Guest was thankful to mount the narrow staircase leading to the golden gallery, for Cornelia was so essentially a creature of to-day that he felt more in sympathy with her in the air and the sunshine, with the echo of the great city rising to their ears. They stood side by side, while the breeze blew elf-like tendrils of hair round the girl's face. The gentle expression of half an hour ago had departed, and she looked a creature of steel and flame; a vital, indomitable being, tingling with energy and joy. At sight of the forest of chimney pots stretching away into the horizon, her eyes shone with an enthusiasm which the wonders of the cathedral had failed to inspire. To Guest the outlook was dreariness personified; the vastness which so impressed his companion conveyed to him only a realisation of work and struggle; of a pent-house in which human creatures struggled for existence. He stood in silence, while Cornelia exhausted her supply of adjectives, brooding on the difference in the standpoints from which each regarded life, until presently she interrupted with a personal question.

"You have never told me where you live, Captain Guest! London is not your real home, is it?"

"Thank goodness, no! I could never live in a city. My home is in the country—Staffordshire. It was a valuable property fifty or sixty years ago, but the factories have crept nearer and nearer, and, of course, that depreciates values. It is let at present. I hope to save enough money to go back in time to end my days there. It's a fine old place, but its value is bound to go on dropping."

"Couldn't you pull it down, and build small property on the site? If there are factories about it might pay vury well."

Guest's look of stupefaction, incredulity, of horror, could scarcely have been greater if Cornelia had suggested a leap down to the street beneath. "Good heavens! what an idea! You can't realise what you are talking about, Miss Briskett. That house has been in the possession of my family since the time of the Tudors!"

Cornelia elevated indifferent eyebrows. "I don't know as that's any reason why you should drop money on it now! I wouldn't take any stock of Toodors beside my own convenience. It's better to own a house you ken live in, than the Garden of Eden, and be obliged to rent it out!"

"There is such a thing as sentiment, Miss Briskett, though you don't seem to realise it."

"Don't you make any mistake about that! I realise it right enough. I'm death on sentiment in its right place, but it takes a back seat when daily bread comes into the question."

"And if I told you that I'd rather starve than desecrate the home of my ancestors—that I'd sooner end my days in a London garret than level a single wall for my own benefit—what then? Would you put me down as a madman for my pains?"

Guest spoke with unwonted passion, staring down into the girl's face with challenging eyes, but Cornelia preserved her attitude of complacent, albeit commiserating, superiority.

"My Poppar'd say it was sheer wickedness to see a chance of making money, and letting it slide, but I don't go so far as that. Everyone has a right to be miserable in his own way, but—I prefer to be comfortable."

Her ripple of laughter struck a chill to Guest's heart. He looked at her moodily beneath knitted brows.

"How is it that we always do feel differently? We seem never to agree. What is the explanation, I wonder?"

"We are different!" returned Cornelia, simply. "The difference is deep down beneath all we say or do. We're made differently from the start. You felt it the first moment we met, and I did the same. We kinder hated each other, and wanted to scratch! That was instinct! You don't get behind instinct in a hurry. Later on other things come in and muddle one up, but just in the first moment one sees clearly. You thought Elma Ramsden the sweetest thing, and were all fired up to help her, but when you looked at me you were bursting with pride and prejudice. Why was that, I want to know?"

"You have answered yourself. Prejudice—a blind, ignorant prejudice, of which I am ashamed; and pride—wounded pride, because you attempted to lay down the law! Don't judge me by that unfortunate beginning, Miss Briskett. I have repented sufficiently to deserve forgiveness!"

Cornelia rested her chin on her clasped hands, and stared thoughtfully over the forest of chimney-tops.

"You are sorry because I'm a girl, and we've had some pretty good times together; but that don't alter the position of the case. I guess we are each pretty good types of our different nationalities. We ken't blame ourselves for that; if the truth's told, I expect we are proud of it, but it makes it impossible to feel the same way. We're bound to jolt up against each other every time we dip below the surface."

"You find it impossible then to think of me as a friend?"

To his own amazement there was a touch of genuine anxiety in Guest's voice. It seemed to matter a great deal whether this girl of the ruddy locks and curling lips accepted his friendship, or deliberately put it aside; to matter none the less that she had jarred upon a dozen prejudices during the course of the last half hour! He knew the tension of suspense before he met her radiant, answering smile.

"Oh, my, no, we're friends right enough! If you haven't to live with people all the time, it's easy enough to avoid the rubs. I guess we can agree to differ for the few times we're likely to meet." ... She buried her face in her hand, to suppress a yawn. "Those steps have just about finished me! I'm all used up. Don't you want to give me some tea? I noticed one of those Fuller stores in the Strand as we came along. Let's go right back and have a rest!"

Guest led the way downwards, feeling but indifferently consoled. An uncomfortable depression weighed on him as he walked through the streets, and sat with Cornelia in a corner of the tea-shop. It was the first meal of which he had partaken in her company, and it gave a feeling of intimacy to face each other across the daintily-spread table, to watch her pour out tea with the pretty white hands on which the diamond solitaire twinkled meaningly. She seemed really tired, and for once was content to be silent while she drank boiling tea and munched rich cakes, with supreme disregard of digestion. As for Guest, two phrases rang in his ears, to the exclusion of other thoughts—"The few times we are likely to meet"—"We might be a honeymoon couple..." Two suggestions, far apart as the poles, yet each bringing within it a thrill of something like fear. He did not wish to find himself in the position of bridegroom to this Yankee stranger; the thought was absurd, nevertheless it was distinctly unpleasant to picture anyone else occupying the position! It was worse than unpleasant, it was actually painful to think that the newly-formed friendship might be interrupted by a separation of three thousand miles! He sat, staring at his companion with the intensity which accompanies a preoccupied mind, until presently Cornelia began to arch her eyebrows, purse up her lips, and crane her head from side to side.

"I beg your pardon! If I was to get up and stand on that bench, do you think it would aid your scrutiny? What's the verdict, please? It's the least you can do to tell me, after quizzing all this time! ... What do you think of my looks? Honestly, mind, without any bunkum! I'm crazy to know."

"I think—sometimes—you are beautiful!"

"Seriously? You mean it?"

"I do!"

The golden eyes met his with a flash of delight, and an arm was stretched impetuously across the table. "Shake hands! You're just the nicest thing! To be puffectly candid, I've thought the same once or twice when I've caught sight of myself in a mirror at a big moment, when I was all worked up!—Big moments are vury suiting, but on ordinary days" (Cornelia put a strong accent on the penultimate), "my nose," she closed one eye to regard with the other the sharp little tip of the member in question, "there's no getting away from it, that my nose is a set-back! It's a mean little thing, without a mite of dignity. And I'm kinder washed-out and pasty by your English roses! Do you think I should look better if my cheeks were pink like Elma's?"

She looked at him with arch inquiry, and even as she did so, either as the result of something which she read in the watching eyes, or by the action of some mysterious mental power, the pink flamed in her cheek, and lo! she was a rose herself; a wonderful, exotic rose, flaming from red to gold! Guest looked at her for a moment, and then hastily dropped his eyes. He was not by nature an impetuous man, but he had a conviction that if he looked at Cornelia any longer at this moment, he might say something which he should afterwards regret.

He did not answer. It seemed unnecessary to answer. His eyes had done that eloquently enough in that moment of meeting. There was a long silence, while Guest mentally pulled himself together, calling himself a fool for his pains; recalling the fact that by her own confession Cornelia was an accomplished flirt; steeling himself against her blandishments. When presently he heard his name pronounced in dulcet tones, he looked up with his most unapproachable air. Cornelia was holding her plate towards him with one hand, while with the other she held a fragment of cake to her lips.

"Another piece, please!" she commanded. "It's the best thing I've struck since I've been this side, and I'm going to wolf into it for all I'm worth! Ordinary meals bore the life out of me, but I'm just wicked when I get started on sweets!"

Guest signalled to a damsel in attendance, and saw her eyes widen in amazement at the renewed order. She walked away suppressing a smile, and could be observed obviously retailing the incident to a companion behind the counter. It detracted woefully from the romance of the situation to be pointed out as a couple who had demolished a large plateful of cakes, and sent out an order for more!



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Before parting from Cornelia at the hotel, Guest made a point of finding out her programme of amusements for the next few days, as a consequence of which he called at a theatrical depot on his way to his club, and secured an odd stall for either night. He had already more social engagements than he could keep, but it occurred to him that it would be possible to run into the theatre for an odd half hour, and chat with Cornelia during an interval, on his way from one place to another. He assured himself with much solemnity that it was his duty to look after the girl, since she had told him that he seemed to her like a bit of home, and he had the poorest possible opinion of her hosts.

As for Cornelia, she ran gaily upstairs to her room, disdaining the lift, and all a-sparkle with pleasurable excitement. From her point of view the afternoon had been an unmitigated success; she had been conscious of no jar, being blandly indifferent to every opinion but her own, and was now as whole-hearted in appreciation of her companion as she had previously been violent in denunciation. He was just the sweetest thing, and she was going to see him again to-morrow; maybe, to- night. It felt like being at home again to have a nice man hopping around!

She threw open the door of her room, and started with surprise to meet Mrs Moffatt on the threshold, her arms piled high with parcels. A long, narrow box lay on the top, and she had an impression of seeing her own name written on the cover, before Mrs Moffatt hurried past, speaking rapidly over her shoulder.

"Why, Cornelia, is that you? Excuse me, won't you, coming into your room? The stupid things have gotten the parcels all mixed up. These are the things I ordered this morning. Come into the parlour before you change. I want you a moment."

She bustled down the passage towards her own room, deposited her bundles, then crossed the corridor to the sitting-room, where Cornelia was already seated. She looked up as the elder woman entered, and thought she had never seen her look so worn and tired; so old, despite the artificial colouring.

"I'm afraid you've not had a good time. You look all used up! Wasn't the visit as nice as you expected?"

Mrs Moffatt threw herself down on a chair with a sigh of impatience.

"Oh, my dear, I am so rattled! Every mortal thing's gone wrong from start to finish. Don't ask me about it, for it don't bear speaking of. My head aches fit to split, and now Silas has taken the huff and marched off goodness knows where, and there's a man sitting down in the hall refusing to go away until he gets his money, and disgracing me before the whole hotel. It's for those furs I had sent in the other day. I decided to keep them, and mailed them to a friend in the country to house for me. I can't be worried with a lot of goods in a hotel, so she gives me store-room until we sail. That's where I'm fixed-up, you see. I can't give him either the goods or the money, and when Silas turns ugly, goodness only knows when he may come back. Maybe not till late at night. I'm so mortified I don't know what to do."

Cornelia laughed easily.

"Don't you worry. It's as easy as pie. I'll give you a cheque, and Mr Moffatt can pay me back in the morning. I'll go and write it out for you now. What's the damage?"

"Two hundred pounds; Fredburg and Company. You are an angel, Cornelia! I ken't begin to thank you."

"Don't try, please! What does it matter for a few hours?" cried Cornelia, brightly. She went into her own room, made out the cheque, and handed it to her friend, who promptly carried it away, to return at the expiration of five minutes with a sigh of relief.

"That was one for him. He looked kinder small when he saw your name on the cheque. It's real sweet of you, dear, and Silas will pay up like a lamb when you are the creditor. He won't show his temper to you, as he would to me. You are a stranger, you see, and I'm only his wife."

There was an accent of bitterness in the speaker's voice, and she leant her head on her hands, in an attitude of profound dejection. Cornelia had never before been the witness of so abandoned a mood, but her ideas of loyalty were too much outraged to permit of sympathy. She held her head erect, and her voice sounded cold and distant.

"I'd just as soon not hear any more about Mr Moffatt, if you don't mind. He's been very kind to me, and it's not my business how he behaves. I guess a good many men get crusty when the bills come in, and you're a pretty expensive wife. I should think you'd get tired of prowling about those stores!"

Mrs Moffatt flushed, and bit her lower lip, not attempting to defend herself, but staring before her with weary, vacant eyes. It was a welcome diversion when a waiter entered the room carrying a tray with tea and refreshments, and Cornelia waited on her hostess with an attention which was intended to mitigate her late severity. Although a fuller acquaintance of Mrs Moffatt had increased neither liking nor respect, it had developed a sincere pity for a woman whose life was barren of purpose, of interest, apparently of love also. It was not in Cornelia's nature to see anyone suffer and not try to help, and if it had been her own mother on whom she was waiting she could not have shown more care and consideration. A table was placed by Mrs Moffatt's side, tea was made with exact remembrance of her preferences; a cushion was brought from a sofa to put behind her back, and a footstool placed ready for her feet. It was while she still knelt to put the stool in position that the elder woman at length broke silence.

"See here, Cornelia!" she cried suddenly, "I mayn't have another chance of talking to you quietly before you go, and there's something I want to say. ... You are young, and rich, and pretty, and strong, and you've had a good time all the way through. Your Poppar spoils you, and you've got just to wish for a thing, and it's there right along. I'm glad of it, for you're a real sweet girl, but, don't come down too hard on other people! ... It's a pretty queer world when you compare one person's luck with another! I'm not going to tell you all I've come through, but it's not been too easy. At times I've been to blame, and at times I haven't. I don't know as it makes much difference anyway— the end's the same. Seems to you I'm a pretty poor thing, but you don't know how you'd have been yourself, Cornelia, if you'd come along the same road. You've got to remember that, before you judge!"

"That's so!" assented Cornelia, gravely. She was too "straight" to deny an insinuation which was all too true, but at the same time she felt an acute regret and embarrassment in the thought that a woman so much older than herself should feel it necessary to make such a confession of unworthiness. "I ought to be a heap better than I am, for there isn't anyone living that's had a better time. We've had spells when Poppar's had bad luck, and the money's been short, but we were as happy as grigs planning out how we'd spend the next pile. So long as you can get along, it doesn't matter much about the extras, when you're as happy together as we are, Poppar and I."

Mrs Moffatt sighed once more.

"I never knew my parents. They died when I was a baby, and I was raised among strangers, who put up with me for the sake of the pay. Love never came my way, somehow. I suppose some folks would say that was my own fault. There was a man I could have cared for, but he didn't want me, and I married Silas for a change; to get away from the dull old life. ... You be careful who you marry, Cornelia! You're the sort of girl who does things pretty thoroughly either way; there's no middle course for you. You're bound to be either blissful or wretched. You've got enough money of your own, so you can afford to choose. Lucky girl!—Is it going to be that Captain Guest?"

"Suttenly not!" Cornelia rose to her feet, and walked back to the tea- table, very stiff in the back, and pink in the cheeks. She was angry with herself for blushing, and the fact naturally made her blush the more. "I told you before that we have only met once or twice, and more'n half the time has been taken up in quarrelling. We are too different ever to run together in double harness."

"Well—I'm sorry! He's got lots of frills, but he looks the right sort all the same. I'm sorry. You ought to have a good man, Cornelia."

Mrs Moffatt pushed aside her half-finished cup of tea, and rose wearily to her feet.

"Well, I guess I'll go and dress. We'll have some champagne for dinner, and that will perk us up for the theatre. They say it's a real good play, and we shall only be together two more nights, so I want you to have a good time. It seems mean not to ask you to stay on, but our plans are all uncertain. We may be off ourselves any time now. Silas never settles down for more than a few days."

Cornelia gave the politely inaudible murmur usual on such occasions. Much as she had enjoyed the stay in town, she could not pretend to regret the prospect of returning to Norton. Later on she would make a longer visit to town, in Poppar's company, but even if the invitation were given she could not consent to remain any longer the guest of Mrs Silas P Moffatt. She was a woman whom it was impossible to respect, and to Cornelia, respect was a necessary foundation to friendship. Silas did not count! He was "a little misery," to be regarded only as an adjunct to his wife. She was even surprised to hear that he was capable of exhibiting ill-temper. In any case, it seemed to be short-lived, as dinner found him in his usual place, and then and throughout the evening he was, if anything, a trifle more animated than usual, thanking Cornelia warmly for helping his wife out of an awkward position, and regretting that in the rush to the theatre there was not time to discharge the debt forthwith. "But we must settle up after breakfast to-morrow. Short accounts make long friends!" he declared smilingly, as he helped her to put on her cloak.

Cornelia had dressed with a vivid remembrance of the fact that Captain Guest had never seen her in evening attire, and a determination to secure "a big moment," for his benefit. When an hour or two later he stood at the entrance to the stalls, and caught sight of her seated in the centre of the front row, it seemed at first sight that she was clad entirely in black, but even as he was applauding the choice for the display of ruddy locks and snowy shoulders, she made a sudden movement, and lo! the black was transformed into vivid, glittering green. Now she was conspicuous—too conspicuous, to please his fastidious taste. He could see opera-glasses levelled on her from the boxes overhead, and over the edge of the dress circle. She sat well forward in her stall, with head thrown back, and eyes fixed upon the stage, in absorbed attention. There was no doubting the unconsciousness of the pose; she was as oblivious of the gaze of others as of his own presence, but he felt an irritated longing to muffle her in veils and wrappings; to lift her up and transplant her to the back seat in a box. What business had those idiots to stare at her, as if she were one of the actresses on the stage? He branded the idiots with even stronger titles, the while he continued to follow their example. Surely it was a forgivable sin to be conspicuously attractive; to stand out, vivid and dazzling, from the surrounding throng, whose chief characteristics seemed to be a bleached inanity, and indifference...

Guest stood in the shadow, his deep-set eyes fixed on the girl with unblinking scrutiny. He remembered that such a gaze was said to demand a response where a certain amount of affinity existed between the people involved, and put out his strength to try the truth of the statement in his own case. The proof came almost startlingly soon. Cornelia's head turned over her shoulder, and her eyes lightened with a flash of recognition. She smiled at him, nodded her head, and arched her brows, signalling a message, which he could easily divine to be an invitation to come to speak to her between the acts. When the curtain fell, Mr Moffatt made an immediate rush for the door, and Guest took possession of his seat, devoutly thankful that it did not happen to adjoin that of the other lady of the party.

"I'm very pleased to meet you again! Seems quite a good time since we parted," said Cornelia, gaily. Her hair stood out round her head like a halo of gold, her eyes shone like stars, her cheeks were softly pink. Guest was dazzled by the bizarre beauty of her. She wore no jewels, not so much as a chain round her neck, and the dress by some witchery was black once more, a thin black gauze, heavily jetted. He pointed at it with a curious finger.

"I could have sworn it was green over there! What has happened to turn it into black?"

Cornelia laughed complacently.

"It's meant to change! There are skirts and skirts: ever so many of them, on top of each other, and each one is different. They all get a chance at times. It's the vury latest craze. Mrs Moffatt nearly killed me when she saw it."

"A chameleon effect. I see! Is it supposed to be symbolic?"

"Of me? I guess not! When I've made up my mind, I stick! There's no chopping about for this child!"

It was extraordinary how illusion vanished at the sound of the high- pitched, nasal voice. The fairy princess vanished, and in her place sat a flesh-and-blood damsel, composed, complacent, and matter-of-fact. Guest felt again the intrusion of a jarring note. He would have liked Cornelia to welcome him with a flutter of embarrassment, to have seen her eyes droop before his, and hear a quiver in her voice. He wanted to realise that he was the natural head and protector, and she the woman, the weak, clinging creature, whose happy destiny it was to be the helpmeet of man; but as Cornelia herself would have phrased it, there was "no cling to her." It seemed ridiculous to think of protection in connection with a creature so jauntily self-satisfied and independent.

He sat by her side until the conclusion of the interval, but the conversation was forced and uninteresting, and he rose to depart with the depressing consciousness that the interview had been a failure, since it left him less in sympathy with Cornelia than he had been in the afternoon.

On his way to the door, Guest's eyes caught the signal of a warning fan, and he looked up to see one of the boxes occupied by a party of his own friends. He had been too much occupied with Cornelia to look around the audience, but now it was impossible to leave the theatre without going upstairs a few minutes. After the ordinary greetings, complaints of the heat, and comparisons of engagements, followed the inevitable question—

"Who is Miss Rossetti?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your friend in the stalls. The girl with the wonderful hair?"

"She's an American—a Miss Briskett. Over from the States on a short visit. I met her lately down in the country, and we happened to strike the same week for a visit to town."

"Lucky for you! I've been admiring her all night. That hair and skin, and the glittering black-green frock! Quite bewitching! Where is she staying?"

"At the Ritz, with some people she met coming over. She knows no one over here."

The good lady's interest appeased, she turned back to the stage, fluttering her fan to and fro. Attracted by its movement, or by the glances focussed upon her, Cornelia tilted her head upwards, recognised Guest, and whispered to her companion. Mr Moffatt's eyes travelled obediently towards the box, to fasten, not on Guest but on the man by his side. For a moment they widened in unmistakable recognition, before, of set purpose, as it were, they grew blank and lifeless. He bowed slightly to Guest, and turned back to the stage.

The man by Guest's side laughed drily, and followed him out into the corridor.

"Look here, Guest," he said shortly, "if that girl is a friend of yours, and is staying in a hotel here with those people, you'd better advise her to get away as soon as possible! That man's a bad egg. I ran up against him in Marienbad last year. He and his wife made the hotel too hot to hold them, and were politely requested to leave. There was nothing definite proved, but too many shady things to be pleasant. He had an extraordinary facility for winning at cards, and the fair Mrs Schuter—by the way her hair was brown at that time—"

"These people are called Moffatt! Perhaps you are mistaking them for somebody else!" Guest interrupted eagerly: but he knew the futility of his hope before he heard the reply.

"No doubt they have half a dozen aliases! What does it matter what they choose to call themselves. You saw for yourself that the man recognised me just now. Sorry to interfere, you know, and all that, but I'd be nailing sorry to leave any girl I knew in such a caravansary. Thought I ought to tell you!"

"Thanks very much! You are perfectly right. I'll send her off to- morrow," said Guest, firmly. As he walked down the steps again he was smouldering with fury, with an impulse to walk into the theatre, denounce the adventurers to their faces, and bear Cornelia away to a place of safety. For all her assurance, events had proved that she was neither capable of taking care of herself, nor of choosing her own companions. She had been led away by impulse, like other girls; he liked her the more, not the less, for the discovery, and his heart softened at the thought of her disillusion. No use to worry her to- night! Let her have a good night's rest, and to-morrow morning, bright and early, he would go round to the hotel, when Mr and Mrs Schuter, or Moffatt, or whatever their name happened to be, would once more find their quarters too hot to hold them!



CHAPTER TWENTY.

On returning to the hotel that evening, Mr Moffatt announced that he and his wife had business on hand next morning, which would necessitate an early breakfast, and that once again they would be obliged to leave Cornelia to her own resources. He suggested, however, that they should all meet at Paddington Station at two o'clock, whence they could take train to Maidenhead for an afternoon on the river.

Cornelia hailed the prospect with delight, and mentally dedicated the morning to doing a picture-gallery, and to choosing a suitable present for her aunt and Elma Ramsden. Aunt Soph should have lace; something soft, and smooth, and womanly, to take the place of the prickly steel trimmings which seemed to constitute her one idea of adornment. Elma, dear thing, what should be chosen for her? Not clothes; it would not be good taste to offer another gift of the kind; a piece of jewellery would be best; something good and quiet, and unobtrusive, suitable for the wear of "a nice young girl."

Cornelia chuckled to herself in prospective enjoyment next morning, as she repaired to the private sitting-room of the suite, where breakfast was invariably served. Her host and hostess had already risen from the table and were dressed for walking. Mrs Moffatt stood before the window looking down into the street with a pale and worried expression. Her husband was scribbling at a side table, but jumped up at Cornelia's entrance, as if he had been anxiously awaiting her appearance.

"Ah, good-morning, Miss Briskett! We are just off, but I wanted to settle up with you first. Here's the cheque, with many thanks! Perhaps you will kindly look over it, to see it is all right."

"Oh, Mr Moffatt, you should not have troubled when you were so hustled. It's too good of you!" cried Cornelia, eagerly, her heart warming to the little man for a promptitude in money matters which reminded her of her own beloved Poppar. "Of course it's all right!" She cast a casual glance over the cheque, and broke into a surprised laugh. "It isn't, though! You've paid me too much! I guess I'm not a usurer, to want interest for a single night. It was only two hundred that I lent!"

Mr Moffatt gave an exclamation of irritation.

"And I have made it out for two hundred and fifty! How very annoying! I have advised it to the bank, too, and sent off the letter. I wanted to get through with as much business as possible this morning. The more hurry the less speed! Why on earth could you not give me the right figures, Gertrude?"

He turned upon his wife with an expression of querulous anger, which she treated with her usual cool disdain.

"I did tell you, Silas—but, for the land's sake, don't make a fuss! It's simple enough, Cornelia can give me the change in notes, and it will do to pay up one or two odd accounts before we leave. You won't mind, dear, I know; and, see here! I'm fairly rattled this morning, and I want you to help me through. I've written out a list of errands that ought to be done right away, as soon as you've gotten through breakfast. The particulars are down on this list, and I'd be for ever obliged. You ought to get through before one, if you start soon, so meet me at Buzzard's and we'll have lunch together. In case I should be late, don't wait, but just order for yourself, and allow half an hour to get to Paddington. If I'm delayed, I'll go straight there, and look out for you on our platform."

"That'll be all right. I'll stay till you come," Cornelia assented. She had already opened the gold chain bag which hung by her side, and was smoothing-out a roll of notes. "Two fives, two tens; I guess that's all I can do this morning! I'll give you the rest to-night."

"Oh, my, yes; there's no hurry. Thank you, dear; much obliged!" said Mrs Moffatt, lightly, but her expression altered as she spoke. Cornelia wondered if she were imagining a look of disappointment. It must be imagination, for of what importance were a trumpery hundred dollars to a woman who daily squandered many times the amount on her own adornment!

After the Moffatts had departed, Cornelia ate her breakfast, and set out in a hansom to accomplish Mrs Moffatt's commissions before proceeding to shop on her own account. She handed the driver the list of addresses which she was asked to visit in town, and wondered at his expression of astonishment; but she wondered no longer as they traversed mile after mile of dreary roadways, to find on arriving at the first destination that as great a distance still separated it from the second on the list. The commissions themselves were trivial and unimportant, at which Cornelia was not surprised after her personal experience of Mrs Moffatt's shopping eccentricities, but when she had wasted a couple of hours driving to and fro for no tangible result, she waxed impatient, determined that she had done enough for the honour of friendship, and that Mrs Moffatt could herself finish the remaining transactions. She therefore directed the driver to take her to the jeweller's shop in Bond Street where she had made her previous purchases, and anticipated a pleasant half hour choosing an ornament which would commend itself to Elma's approval.

The partner in the firm welcomed her with his usual empressement, mingled with a certain surprise for which she was at a loss to account. Although a keen tradesman, pearl brooches and bangles seemed this morning too trivial matters to engross his attention; he had the air of waiting momentarily to discuss a more important subject, and presently introduced it himself, unable to be longer silent.

"I despatched a messenger to the hotel an hour ago with the emerald necklace! Mrs Moffatt informed him that you were not in at the moment, but would be able to see him at tea-time. She was probably unaware that you intended to call yourself."

"Yes, she was. It doesn't matter a mite. So long as she was there, it's all right," Cornelia replied, turning over the tray of ornaments absently. It seemed odd that Mrs Moffatt should have returned to the hotel after representing that she was obliged to be absent all morning, but no doubt some engagement had fallen through which she had intended to keep. She had lifted a brooch in her hands and turned towards the window to examine the colour of the pearls, when the jeweller spoke again.

"We were delighted to receive your agreement to take the necklace, for, as Mrs Moffatt had definitely decided that it was beyond her figure, we were on the point of sending it over to our Paris house. I am sure Mr Briskett will not regret this purchase when he sees the quality of the stones."

Cornelia stood stock-still, staring hard at the little pearl brooch, a hundred vague doubts and dreads which had previously been resolutely thrust aside, darting back into her mind with a new and terrible significance. She felt stunned and bewildered, but the predominant sensation was the necessity for caution. She must be certain of what had happened before she presumed to judge. She rallied all her self- possession, and was surprised at the natural sound of her own voice as she replied—

"What makes you speak of my father, Mr Marchant? Did I mention to you at any time that he was fond of emeralds?"

"I believe you did on one occasion, but it was your reference this morning to which I alluded." Mr Marchant drew out his pocket-book and selected one letter from the contents. "This is it, I think. Yes! You say—'I have just received a cable permission from my father, Mr Edward B Briskett, to purchase the emerald necklace.' I was referring to this quotation, rather than any casual remark."

Cornelia leant over the counter and read the words with her own eyes; saw the signature of her own name written below in Mrs Moffatt's handwriting.

"Why, of course! I forgot. I never do remember what I write," she said calmly.

She was sure now; there was no longer any reason for doubt! The everlasting shopping expeditions; the purchase of a succession of worthless trifles; the exploiting of her own wealth, had all been designed to create a confidence which would prepare the way for such a coup as the present. And this morning she had been deliberately decoyed out of the way, while the last scene of the comedy was enacted. The messages were plainly a ruse, while the different rendezvous would have provided a further detention, allowing the conspirators plenty of time to decamp.

Once opened, Cornelia's eyes were wonderfully keen. She understood now why the goods which it was inconvenient to harbour in a hotel had been constantly despatched to the keeping of "a friend." She realised that she had been cheated—doubly cheated—in first giving a cheque for two hundred pounds, and afterwards in counting out change for a worthless return.

"I need never fancy myself again after this! I'm just the greenest peach on the wall!" she told herself furiously, but through all the anger and shock, the necessity for caution remained predominant in her mind. Mr Marchant must not suspect that anything was wrong. Even now, at the eleventh hour, the fraud might be prevented. She must get back to the hotel at once; see Mrs Moffatt and reason with her, argue with her, command her to hand over the jewels! The woman was not all bad, and life had gone hardly with her. She should have another chance! Cornelia waived aside all thought of responsibility toward the jeweller himself, by the easy decision to pay for the necklace if necessary, but a sudden feeling of helplessness weighed upon her at the prospect of the interview ahead.

Suppose Mr Moffatt were at the hotel with his wife! Then there would be two to one, and once the outer veneer was broken through, there was no saying to what extremes of abuse, of threatening, even of violence itself, they might descend. Cornelia recalled the two faces; the woman's hard, sullen, coarse; the man's mean and crafty, and shuddered at the prospect.

All at once the thought of Guest occurred, to bring with it a wave of relief. Guest had begged her to summon him if at any time he should be needed; now the need had arisen, and he should help her through.

She hastily selected a pearl bangle and laid it on one side on the counter.

"I will decide on that! Let your man bring it round at five o'clock, and ask to see me personally. He can bring a bill made out for all I owe, and I'll settle at once. And, Mr Marchant, I want to use your telephone! Can you ring and have me switched on to the Army and Navy Club?"

While the preliminary operations were going on at the telephone, Cornelia racked her brain to think of a suitable rendezvous, and failing a better suggestion, decided on a tea-shop exactly across the road. To her immense relief, Guest was found at his club, and announced that he would be with her in ten minutes' time, so that there was nothing to do but to dismiss the hansom, and secure a table in a quiet corner.

The time seemed long, but in reality it was less than ten minutes before Guest seated himself by her side. He looked grave and stern; preoccupied almost to the point of discourtesy, for the ordinary greetings were exchanged for a succession of short, eager questions.

"Where have you been all the morning? Have you been back to the hotel? Did you get my message?"

"I did not! I've been out since about half-past nine. What was the message about? Anything important?"

"Tell me first what you wanted me for just now."

Cornelia paused for a moment and her lips trembled. She clasped her hands together and leant across the little table, staring earnestly into his eyes.

"Captain Guest, I'm in trouble! I've a pretty good opinion of myself as a rule, but—I ken't see it through alone! ... It's going to be one of the meanest businesses you ever touched. ... Will you help me?"

"I will!" said Guest, quietly. "Thank you for asking me. Is it—excuse my asking—anything in connection with Mr and Mrs Moffatt? Ah!" as the girl exclaimed in sharp surprise, "I fancied that last night's meeting might bring things to a crisis. Now, I'll tell you just what happened in that box, and then you must tell me your story."

For the next ten minutes they sat with heads bent close together, exchanging confidences of grave import. Cornelia kept nothing back, and as he listened, Guest's face grew momentarily sterner. The hastily ordered meal lay neglected on the table while they faced the desperate situation with which they had to deal.

Guest took a man's cut-and-dried view of the case, and was strongly in favour of apprising Mr Marchant of what had happened and returning to the hotel, supported not only by him, but by a police officer into the bargain, but Cornelia would not be induced to agree.

"She's done wrong, and she forged my name for her own purposes—there's no getting away from that, but there may be some explanation which will make it look a little less black. Anyway, I'm going to hear it before I judge, and if she'll make things good I'll give her another chance. You don't know what's come before this!"

"I should have little difficulty in guessing, however," Guest said drily.

He thought of the hotel in Marienbad; of the changed name; the dyed hair; and mentally conjured up the dreary life of plotting and scheming, of constant danger, and miserable success, which constitutes the life of the professional adventurer, but Cornelia saw only the haggard face which had looked at her in the sitting-room of the hotel, the face of the woman whose childhood had known no home, whom love had passed by. She heard again the hopeless intonation of the voice which had reminded her—"You'd have to tread the same road yourself, before you could judge me, Cornelia!" Her chin squared with the look of stubborn determination which her aunt already knew so well, and she said firmly—

"Well, anyway, I've got to see her first! If you don't approve, I'll go alone, but I'd like best to have you there."

"Of course I'll come. There's no question about that. We had better get off at once, then, and not waste any more time, but first you must have something to eat! You've been driving about all morning, and there's trouble ahead. I'll ring for something hot and tempting. What would you like best?"

"I couldn't swallow a bite if you paid me for it. It would stick in my throat."

"Have a glass of wine, then! I'm not going to stir till you have something. You look tired out."

"I never touch wine. I think perhaps I could drink some cor-fee!" Cornelia said doubtfully, and Guest's stern face suddenly lightened into a smile.

"Coffee! The worst thing possible for your nerves. You funny little girl! You have not the smallest glimmering of an idea how to take care of yourself."

To his surprise and alarm, two big tears brimmed up suddenly in Cornelia's eyes, and her lips quivered.

"Don't be good to me!" she whispered sharply. "Don't! For two straws I'll howl! I'm all worked up. Take me out, out into the street, quick, before I make a scene!"

Guest needed no second bidding. In an incredibly short time the untasted meal was paid for, a hansom summoned, and he was driving once more through the streets by Cornelia's side, while she mopped her eyes with a minute pocket-handkerchief.

"You haven't lived with her for days at a time. ... You haven't thought of her as a friend. ... You haven't had her nurse you, when you were sick!..."

"Thank heaven for that!" ejaculated Guest, devoutly. It was ridiculous to indulge in sentiment in connection with a thief and a forger; the woman deserved no mercy, and would receive none, if he had his way; none the less was he charmed by Cornelia's emotion, by her pity, her amazing inconsistency. Gone were her airs of complacency and independence; at the first threatening of danger the pretty pretence was broken up; weak, trembling, tearful, she summoned her natural protector to her side! Guest's heart swelled with a passion of tenderness. In his immaculate frock-coat, freshly-creased trousers, and irreproachable silk hat, he was as truly a knight-errant at that moment as any mailed warrior of old, going forth to fight a tourney for his lady's favour.

"Don't cry!" he cried eagerly. "Look here, you know, if you want me to let her down lightly, you must pull yourself together. I can't stand this. If you cry any more—I'll—kill her!"

Cornelia swallowed dismally, blinking the tears from her eyelids.

"I don't know as it wouldn't be the best way out, as far as she's concerned, but I'd just as lief you didn't all turn criminals on my hands! I'll pull myself up once we are there, but I'm all of a flutter thinking it over in advance."

"We'll be there soon now," Guest told her reassuringly.

They drove in silence down the length of Bond Street, and out into the whirl of Piccadilly. Soon, almost too soon for Cornelia's jangled nerves, they had drawn up before the great door of the hotel.

Here nothing of a sensational nature had occurred. The porter touched his cap to Cornelia with his usual stolid air, the clerk bowed with unruffled complacence—no hint of trouble had come to their ears. The lift was full of a laughing, chattering crowd. It seemed to Cornelia almost incredible that these women were repairing to their rooms to deck themselves for fresh pleasures, while she was about to bring a prisoner to the bar. She turned towards Guest, as he stood by her side, and felt a fresh sense of comfort in his nearness, his bigness, his air of quiet strength.

On the second floor the lift discharged half its occupants—a merry flock for the most part, hurrying along the corridor, laughing and jesting as they went, while two followed gravely behind, looking to right and left with anxious eyes.

The door of Mrs Moffatt's bedroom was closed. Was it already deserted—its drawers and wardrobes despoiled of their treasures; a bundle of worthless trifles left behind?—Cornelia's heart beat in sickening throbs; she knew a coward wish that she might be too late. To pay up and go quietly home seemed an easy way out of the difficulty into which she had walked so blindly!

She drew a quick, frightened breath, and felt Guest's hand press protectingly on her arm. The sitting-room door opened, and side by side they entered the room.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

Mrs Moffatt was standing before the table, tearing up old papers. She looked up with a start, to see Guest and Cornelia standing before her in that eloquent, linked attitude, and over her features there passed that helpless, trapped expression of guilt discovered and brought to bay, which, once seen, can never be forgotten. The blood ebbed from her face, leaving it ashen white, except for two fixed spots of colour on either cheek; her fingers relaxed their hold, and the fragments of paper fluttered downward to the floor. There was a ghastly silence.

It was Guest who was the first to speak, standing straight and stern at the opposite side of the table, and at the sound of his opening words the wretched woman trembled violently, and sank on a chair for support.

"Mrs Schuter! I have come here with Miss Briskett to ask your explanation of a letter sent in her name to Mr Marchant, the jeweller, this morning. She has seen the letter, with the forged signature at the end, and has heard that the necklace was brought to this hotel, and delivered to you. May I trouble you to hand it over?"

Each word was sharp and cutting as an icicle, and Guest's steel-like eyes were alight with remorseless anger. Cornelia turned her head aside, unable to endure the pitiful spectacle. Mrs Moffatt stammered out a broken subterfuge.

"What necklace? I don't know—I don't—understand!"

Even as she spoke, one trembling hand twitched upward, to be as quickly lowered, but not before Guest had pounced upon the clue with swift intuition.

"You understand very well! As a matter of fact, you are wearing it at this moment beneath your dress. Will you kindly take it off, and put it on the table?"

He turned aside as he spoke, paying this small tribute to her womanly feelings. A strangled sob broke the silence; the sound of laboured breathing, then a faint, clicking sound, and he looked round to see a dazzle of light on a corner of the table, where the sunbeams had found a plaything. A bauble of green and white stones, for which a woman had sold her soul.

Cornelia was leaning against the mantelpiece, her face hidden in her hands. Guest realised that it was her sob which he had heard, and the knowledge did not soften his heart.

"Thank you!" he said in the same tone of cutting politeness. "That is so much to the good, but I shall have to trouble you still further. There was two hundred pounds lent to you yesterday, ostensibly to be paid to a furrier, that, of course, was a mere excuse!—and thirty pounds in bank-notes this morning. I fear the first sum is gone beyond recall, since your husband's cheque is probably not worth the paper on which it is written, but I take it that the notes are still intact. As you prefer someone else to pay your bills, you will have kept them for personal use. They are probably in your pocket at this moment!"

"I have not got the cheque—I could not return it if I would," said Mrs Moffatt, hoarsely. "My husband cashed it as soon as the bank was open, and left London shortly after. He has the money. I have not had a cent of it. The notes are in my purse. He left them so that I should be able to follow."

"Just so. You will please return them to Miss Briskett, and we will deal with the other sum later on. Your intention was to leave the hotel for good this morning, and you provided Miss Briskett with commissions to keep her out of the way while you made your preparations. That is the case, is it not?"

The woman did not answer, but looked across the room towards where Cornelia stood; and Cornelia parted her hands and looked back at her in pitiful inquiry.

"Did you mean to run away, and leave me here alone?"

Mrs Moffatt bent her head in shame. Her face was not white now, but deep, burning red.

"We knew—after last night—that the game was up. We had to go, Cornelia—or—"

"Be kind enough not to address Miss Briskett by her Christian name!" interrupted Guest, sharply. It seemed to him an impossible humiliation that this woman should still dare to address the girl in the language of friendship. "Let us get to the end of this business. I presume there are other bills, which will come in, in due course; bills for goods ordered in other forged notes. Am I right in supposing this? It is your best plan to speak the truth!"

"Y-es!"

"There are more bills! Can you give me an approximate idea of their amount? Fifty pounds, one hundred, two hundred? What is the amount?"

"About—one hundred."

"And the hotel expenses! Miss Briskett suspects from the manner of the officials that you were thoughtful enough to take these rooms in her name. Again I ask you, is that the case?"

A bend of the head gave assent, and Guest wheeled round with a gesture of intense indignation, took a few rapid strides up and down the room, then halted again by Mrs Moffatt's side.

"And, not content with cheating and plotting to desert this young girl, whom you professed to befriend, how many of her personal possessions have you stolen? You had free access to her room—have you taken advantage of her absence this morning to rob her of her private belongings?"

Two exclamations, of denial, of dismay, and reproach, sounded in his ears. Innocent and guilty alike regarded him with indignant eyes. To the mysterious feminine reasoning it appeared there were different degrees in the crime of theft. To pay a debt by means of a worthless cheque was evidently less reprehensible than to pilfer a brooch from a dressing-table. Guest knew himself condemned before he heard the simultaneous replies.

"Captain Guest, how can you! She would never do that!"

"Indeed, you are mistaken. I'm bad enough, but I have not fallen quite so low. I have not touched a thing."

"You must excuse my denseness. I fail to see how one theft is so much worse than the other. I am sorry to seem intrusive, Miss Briskett, but I have taken a certain responsibility upon myself, and I must be satisfied on this point before we go any further. Will you take Mrs Schuter with you to your room while you carefully check your possessions, and get back your bank-notes. I will wait here till you return."

For a moment Cornelia appeared on the point of refusing, but she changed her mind, and without a word led the way down the corridor towards her own bedroom. Her dressing-case stood on a table by the window; she stood over it uncertainly, as if still debating with herself whether she should or should not obey Guest's command, and as she did so Mrs Moffatt's voice broke the silence—

"Cornelia!—there's not a mite of reason why you should take my word, but I tell you straight I haven't laid a finger on one of your things. You ken look as well as not, but it's wasting time. The thirty pounds is in my purse, ready for you to take. When it comes to the last Silas takes fright. There's no need to tell any more lies. We have lived by this sort of thing for years past, but as soon as he scents danger in the air, he makes off to a place of safety, and leaves me to finish up. You won't find him, however hard you search, but I'm right here. ... What are you going to do with me, Cornelia?"

Cornelia drew a sharp, sobbing breath.

"Oh, why did you do it?" she cried wildly. "Why did you do it? You laid a plot for me from the start. I was rich, and—and green, so you fussed over me, and acted like a friend, and invited me up here, for nothing but to bleed me—to get as much out of me as you could, and then leave me to face it out alone in a strange place. I was your own countrywoman, and I trusted you. Hadn't you got a spark of loyalty left, that you could act so—mean?"

Mrs Moffatt put her hand to her throat. Her voice seemed paralysed; husky, disjointed, and feeble.

"No! It's all gone; loyalty, faith, everything that matters. There's nothing left but this! You'd not believe me if I said I was fond of you, Cornelia, but it's the solid truth, though I robbed you all the same. I plotted to rob you, as you say! You had plenty of money, and we were cleaned out. I meant to get away with that necklace, and sell the stones on the Continent. There are people there who will buy without asking questions. I've got to know them pretty well during the last few years. ... Cornelia, what are you going to do? Is Mr Marchant sending to arrest me here?"

"He doesn't know that anything is wrong. I managed to keep quiet, and let him believe I knew all about it. To the last I kept hoping that there was some way out. Captain Guest wanted to bring an officer along, but I wouldn't do it."

"That was like you! You wanted I should have a chance, but it's all true; every one thing! There's more true than you know of—other bills to come in, a big sum run up here. You can give back the necklace, but even so, it is going to be heavy enough. ... Cornelia, what are you going to do? I'm a bad woman—are you going to send me to prison, to have a chance of growing worse, among other bad women like myself?"

Cornelia threw out her arms with a sudden, reckless gesture.

"No!" she cried strongly, "I'm not! I'm going to let you go; I'm going to help you to go. Captain Guest's a pretty hard man; I guess you'd better not see him again. Keep those notes—you'll need some money to help along, and march out of the hotel right now, and lose yourself as fast as ever you can. You can have ten minutes to do it, while I wait here, and as much longer as I can keep him quiet; but you've got to be slippy. ... You shall have your chance!"

Mrs Moffatt gasped for breath, her face twitched convulsively, and she tottered as she stood.

"You mean that? Oh, God bless you, Cornelia Briskett! If there are any blessings going, there's no one on earth deserves them more than you. You've saved me this time. Whatever happens in the future, you've given me a chance."

"That's so, but the question is, are you going to take it? See here! let's strike a bargain over this before you go! You are a clever woman, or you wouldn't have escaped so long, but the game is played out. It isn't safe to go on, when any moment you may be recognised by people you have fooled before. You're bound to make a fresh start—why shouldn't you try being straight for a change? You'd find it would pay better in the end. You've got to think, when you leave this to-day, that a girl's whim is all there is between you and a prison cell. That ought to be a pretty bracing remembrance, I should say. ... Start away with the money you have in hand, and see if you ken't make some more for yourself. There's another thing! You can write to me in a year from now, and tell me where you are, and what you have been about. I'll ferret into every single thing, and if it's straight, I'll help you again; I'll go on helping you! You need never say after this that you cheat because you're obliged. Live straight, and work hard, and I'll see to it that you don't want. You've got your chance! ... I guess you'd better scoot!"

Mrs Moffatt stood before her, trembling and abject; overcome with a pitiful emotion.

"I'm going! Could you, could you kiss me, Cornelia, before I go?"

Cornelia drew herself up proudly.

"No, I guess not! We'll leave that over for another time. Some day, perhaps, when you're straight. ... You'd best not waste any more time..."

"I'm going. I can't thank you. I swear to you—"

"No, don't swear! I don't want any promises. Promise yourself; that's the best thing. ... Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Cornelia Briskett!"

The door opened, and shut. Cornelia listened with bated breath, but all was silent from the corridor without. She leant her head on the dressing-table, and burst into a passion of tears.

————————————————————————————————————

Captain Guest paced up and down the sitting-room for a quarter of an hour, casting impatient glances at the clock, and pausing now and then to lift the emerald necklace from the table and examine it with wondering curiosity. It was a pretty enough plaything, but from his point of view it seemed a preposterous waste of money to sink a cool thousand pounds on its purchase. He mentally ran over the various necessary repairs on his own property, which could be completed for the sum, and shrugged his shoulders expressively. Still, women liked such playthings, and if one were specially interested in a woman (a woman, say, to whom emeralds were specially becoming!), there would be a certain satisfaction in seeing her wearing the pretty things. It was conceivable that the pleasure so given might even be as keen as that derived from a new chimney-stack or a barn!

A vision rose before him; a vision of a ruddy head and snowy shoulders, on which the green light flashed and waned. He saw Cornelia, as she had appeared, sitting in the front row of the stalls at the theatre, and mentally clasped the necklace round her throat.

The door opened. He thrust the vision aside, and wheeled round quickly, reassuming his sternest expression. A dejected little girl stood on the threshold, with dishevelled locks and tear-stained eyes, and as he stared in amazement, she quietly closed the door, and collapsed in a limp little heap on the corner of the sofa.

"I've—come back!"

"Where's Mrs Moffatt?"

"She's"—the voice broke in a strangled sob—"gone!"

"Gone where?"

"Gone away. Ten minutes ago. She's ever so far off by now!"

Guest stood still, transfixed with anger and astonishment.

"Do you mean to say that she escaped before your eyes? What happened? Did you leave her alone in your room?"

"No; I told her to go. I sent her away. It was my suggestion from the start."

"You—told—her—to go!" Guest's face was a study of outraged wrath. "After all she has done; after the deliberate way in which she has cheated and deceived you; after the lies she has told; after her thefts,—hundreds of pounds still to pay up! after intending to desert you in this hotel, you mean to tell me seriously that you sent her away!"

The tousled head nodded dumbly; two big tears trickled down the reddened cheeks.

"Are you aware that you have compounded a felony? If Mr Marchant heard what you had done, he could accuse you of being a partner in the crime. Do you know that you have broken the law of the country, and that I could give you in charge at this moment, if I wished to do so?"

"I guess that's so.—Are you going to do it?"

"That's ridiculous! You know it is, but—"

"Then you're another!" cried Cornelia, laughing through her tears. "You're as bad as I am, so you can't preach! She's gone anyway, and I'm—glad! We got the necklace, and for the rest, I'll just have to pay up, and look pleasant. Poppar says you've got to pay for experience in this world. I'll tell him I concluded I'd better learn it pretty thoroughly, once I'd started. He won't mind."

"Your father must be a wealthy man if he can afford to lose four or five hundred pounds without feeling annoyed!"

Cornelia looked at him quickly, and replied in a tone of studied indifference.

"Oh, he's flush enough at the moment. Likely enough we shall be paupers next year. Don't be angry with me, Captain Guest. I simply had to give her a chance! I can afford to pay up, and if I'd sent her to prison it would have killed the last little mite of self-respect. I trusted her instead, and I believe that's going to help more than any punishment. It would me! She's had a good old fright, and maybe this will be the turning-point in her life."

Guest's lips curled in eloquent disbelief. He paced slowly up and down the room, then stationed himself once more in front of the sofa.

"Did you look over your things to see that they were all right?"

"No! ... She said she hadn't touched them."

"Did you make her return the notes?"

"No, I—I guessed she'd need them herself!"

"How extremely considerate! Didn't you feel it necessary to offer her a little more, while you were about it? To give her another twenty pounds, say, to make up the full change for the cheque?"

The face that peered up at him was at once so abashed, so discomfited, so childlike in its humility, that his anger melted before it, and gave place to a wave of tenderness.

"You ridiculous, high-flown, little girl! Who would have believed that all your shrewd commonsense would collapse like this! No! I'm not angry, I shan't scold any more. The thing's done now, and you've had enough worry. I'm going to ring the bell, and order some luncheon. We will have it here together, and comfort ourselves after all this excitement. I'm hungry enough, whatever you are! What shall it be? You are going to treat me, you know, so it must be something good. Roast chicken! That's what ladies generally prefer, and some sweets, and fruit. Claret for me, and what for you? Is it to be—'corfee'— once more?"

He went to the door to give the order to the waiter, accompanied by a tip which had the effect of producing the meal in an extraordinarily short space of time. Cornelia's appearance being still distinctly dishevelled, Guest dismissed the waiter and himself took the head of the table, carving the chicken, handing the vegetable dishes, and even pouring out the coffee. If they had been a honeymoon couple the intimacy of the scene could not have been greater, but in that case he would have taken his wife in his arms and kissed away her tears. Poor, little, red-eyed girl! There was precious little beauty about her at the moment, yet she had never appeared more attractive.

"I ken't eat a bite!" was Cornelia's first melancholy statement, but when one wing of the chicken had disappeared from her plate—"It's mighty good!" she said, and promptly set to work on a second. She drank copious draughts of coffee, began to revive in spirits, and experience qualms concerning her appearance. "Say! do I look a perfect freak?"

"You look much better than you did ten minutes since. In another ten minutes you will look quite like yourself, if you obey my orders, and eat a good meal."

Cornelia shrugged expressively.

"I know what that means! I guess I'm ugly enough to kill. That's why I hate to cry—it musses one up so for hours after. ... Captain Guest, what am I going to do next? Can I settle up, and get away to Norton this afternoon, do you suppose?"

"I am afraid not. The last train leaves at three o'clock, and that does not give enough time for all that has to be done. I was wondering whether my aunt—whether you would consent to sleep at her house to- night."

"Suttenly not! Why should I? It won't be the first time by a good many that I've stayed a night by myself in a hotel, and there's no reason why I should move. I'll have my meals up in this room, if it will ease you any, but I won't leave this place till to-morrow morning. Then I'll go back," she laughed feebly, "to The Nook, and humble pie!"

"You need not tell your aunt what has happened, if you don't choose to do so!"

"Oh, yes; I'll own up! Aunt Soph will be pleased to feel she was right. Maybe she'll like me better when I'm down on my luck. ... What must I set about first?"

"I shall interview the hotel manager, and tell him the whole story— that's due to him, you know, or there might be a repetition of the offence. Then there's the jeweller—he must be warned in the same way, and the necklace returned. I presume you don't want to keep it."

Cornelia shuddered.

"Oh, no. I could never wear it. But when Poppar comes over I'll make him buy me something else instead. Mr Marchant shan't lose! I guess I'd better drive there straight away, and then to the bank. I'll have to arrange for a pretty big draft. ... You never know how things are going to pan out in this world, do you? I thought I was going to spend this afternoon on the river, gliding about so sweet and peaceful!"

Guest flushed, hesitated, and—plunged!

"Why shouldn't we go all the same? We can finish our business and still have time. If you will allow me, I'll take great care of you and bring you home before it's dark. It would be too dreary sitting up here by yourself, all the evening."

Cornelia sprang to her feet, clapping her hands with delight.

"How lovely! How lovely! You're just the nicest thing! It's sweet of you to think of it! Go right away now, and get through with your interview, and I'll join you in the lounge as soon as I've prinked, and gotten my face into order. I'll hang my head out of the window, and massage my nose. ... Let's go and be happy, and forget all our woes!"

She ran to the door, waved her hand gaily over her shoulder, and disappeared from sight.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

When Guest drove round to the hotel next morning to escort Cornelia to the station, she was surprised to see his own bag on the roof, and to hear that he intended to accompany her all the way to Norton.

"I want to make sure that you are safely housed once more," he explained as they drove off. "I feel a certain responsibility for you, and I think perhaps your aunt would like to see me, and hear from a second person that everything is satisfactorily settled here."

"My aunt," said Cornelia, demurely, "my aunt isn't a mite disposed to acknowledge your responsibility. She thinks you're 'dashing'! She don't approve of dashing young men. She warned me specially to avoid you."

"Humph! dashing, am I? The word has an Early Victorian sound that suggests side-whiskers and leg-of-mutton trousers. I'm not at all sure that I'm flattered!" returned Guest, as he alternately stared out of the window, and busied himself in arranging the bags on the front seat of the cab.

There was an air of embarrassment in his manner this morning, and he talked against time, as if anxious not to let the conversation come to a pause. The afternoon on the river had been a delightful experience, abundantly proving the truth of his prophecy that it would be impossible to be bored in Cornelia's society. She had looked very sweet in her softened mood, and as they drifted down the stream together, had prattled away in simple, confiding fashion, telling him the story of her life; of the ups and downs which she and her Poppar had known together; of her own individual adventures. He learnt that she was not engaged, and had never been in love, though there were always heaps of admirers "prancing" round. She intended to marry some day, however. Why, suttenly! Just as soon as ever the right man hove along. What was the good of being a woman, if you didn't have your own home, and your own husband and children! Then she looked at him with her clear, golden eyes, and inquired how it was with himself. Was he in love?

"No!" answered Guest, but, even as he spoke, he knew in his heart that he lied. In the guise of a Yankee stranger, who embodied in herself all the traits which he most condemned, the one woman of his life had appeared. He loved—and the woman whom he loved was Cornelia Briskett!

After that, conversation languished. Guest was too much bewildered by the sudden realisation of his position to wish to talk, and Cornelia had developed a headache as a result of the morning's emotion. She was glad to be quiet; to allow herself to be led about, and cared for, and told what she must do.

"Just like a 'nice young girl'!" she said, laughingly as they parted in the lounge of the hotel. "If I lived over here long enough—there's no telling—I might grow into a Moss Rose myself!"

"I wish you would! I wish you would! Won't you try?" Guest cried eagerly. He, himself, did not know what he really meant by the inquiry, for the words had sprung to his lips almost without thought. He was as much startled by the sound of them as was Cornelia herself. He saw the dismay in her eyes, the dawning comprehension; he saw something else also—the first flicker of self-consciousness, the first tell-tale droop of the lids. She put him off with a light answer, and he went out to pace the streets until the night closed around him. ... What was this that had happened, and what was it going to mean? One week—a week to the day since he had first met this girl and conceived a violent dislike to her on the spot. Voice, accent, and manner had alike jarred on his nerves: she had appeared in every respect the opposite to the decorous, soft-voiced, highly-bred, if somewhat inane, damsel who represented his ideal of feminine charm. One week ago! What magic did she possess, this little red-haired, white-faced girl, to make such short work of the scruples of a lifetime? What was this mysterious feminine charm which blinded his senses to everything but just herself, and the dearness of her, and the longing to have her for his own? The jarring element had not disappeared, the difference of thought still existed, but for the moment he was oblivious of their existence. For the first time in his three-and-thirty years he was in love, and had room for no other thought.

The morning brought colder reflections. When—supposing he ever married, it would be wormwood and gall to see his wife condemned by his friends! He had looked forward to espousing the daughter of some irreproachable county family, and returning to his old home to live in frugal state for the rest of his life; driving to church in the old barouche, attending a succession of dull, country-house dinners; taking the chair at village meetings. He tried to imagine Cornelia spending long, peaceful years as the squire's wife, contentedly pottering about the village, superintending Dorcas meetings, and finding recreation in occasional garden parties, where the same people met the same people, attired in the same frocks, and sat meekly in rows, drinking claret cup and sour lemonade, but the effort failed. Cornelia obstinately refused to fit into the niche. He could summon up a vision of her, indeed, but it was a disconcerting vision, in which she "pranced round," while the neighbourhood turned its back, and pursed disapproving lips.

He was attracted by the girl—seriously attracted, but— It was a great big but, and he promised himself to be cautious, to think long and well before taking the plunge. All the same, it seemed imperative that he should return to Norton. His aunt was always delighted to put him up, and he could not be happy until he had satisfied himself that all was well with Cornelia once more. Incidentally also, he was interested to know what was happening at the Manor.

On the journey to Norton the presence of fellow-travellers kept the conversation necessarily impersonal, and at the station Cornelia dismissed her escort, refusing point blank to drive with him to the Park.

"I'm going back as a sorrowing penitent, and it don't suit the part to drive up with a dashing young man. There are only two players in this act, and they are Aunt Soph and myself. You come round in the evening, when I've paved the way."

"Till to-night, then!" said Guest, raising his hat. Once again, as he looked at her through the window of the cab, the clear eyes wavered before his own; once again his scruples vanished. He loved, and the world held nothing but that glad fact.

Cornelia exhibited much diplomacy in her interview with her aunt. Seated at the good lady's feet in an attitude of childlike humility, she related the story of her adventures in simple, unexaggerated language, without any attempt at self-justification.

"I ought to have guessed from the start; but it seems I'm not as smart as I thought. They had me, the whole way through. You were right, you see, and I was wrong. I should have taken your advice. Guess it will be a lesson to me!"

"I trust it may prove so, my dear! a dearly-bought, but invaluable lesson!" quoth Miss Briskett, blandly. So far from being incensed, she actually purred with satisfaction, for had not the truant returned home in a humble and tractable spirit, ready to acknowledge and apologise for her error? Her good humour was such that she bore the shock of hearing of Guest's role in the drama with comparative composure.

"He seems," she declared, "to have comported himself with considerable judgment, but, my dear Cornelia, if anything more were needed to demonstrate the necessity for caution and restraint in the future, it must surely be the remembrance that you were driven into such intimate relationship with a man whose acquaintance you had made but a few short days before! It seems to me that the recollection must be painfully embarrassing to any nice young girl."

"Yes, 'um!" said Cornelia, meekly. She lowered her eyelids, and her cheeks flushed to a vivid pink. Such a typical picture did she make of a modest and abashed young girl, that the spinster's stern face relaxed into a smile, and she laid her hand affectionately upon the ruddy locks.

"There! there! We will say no more about it—

"'Repentance is to leave The sins we loved before; And show that we in earnest grieve By doing so no more!'

"Another time you will be guided by wiser counsels!"

"...Have you missed me, Aunt Soph, while I've been away?"

"Er—the house has seemed very quiet," replied Miss Briskett, truthfully. "I am sorry that I am obliged to leave you this afternoon, my dear, but I have promised to attend a committee meeting at four o'clock. You will be glad to rest after your journey, and to unpack and get your things put neatly away."

"Has Elma come home?"

"She returned yesterday morning. I saw the dog-cart from the Manor waiting outside the gate this morning. Mrs Ramsden told me the other day that Elma's health was completely restored."

Cornelia pondered over these scanty items of news as she sat at her solitary tea an hour later. Elma was well; Elma had returned home. A dog-cart from the Manor had been observed waiting outside the gate of The Holt that morning. A dog-cart! Imagination failed to picture the picturesque figure of Madame perched on the high seat of that undignified vehicle. If the cart had not conveyed the mother, it must, in all probability, have conveyed the son. The dog-cart had been waiting! The deduction was obvious to the meanest intellect. Geoffrey Greville had driven down to see Elma the morning after her departure, and had spent a considerable time in her society!

Suddenly Cornelia realised that her anxiety could brook no delay, and that it would be impossible to spend another night without discovering how the Moss Rose had fared during her absence. She despatched Mary to The Holt with a verbal message to the effect that she had returned from town, and, if convenient, would much like to see Miss Ramsden for a few minutes before six o'clock, and while she was still at tea the answer was received; a note this time, written in pencil, and bearing marks of haste and agitation.

"Dearest Cornelia,—Yes, of course! I am thankful you are back. Come right up to my room. It's perfectly wretched here, but I'm so happy! Elma."

Cornelia rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and indulged in an expressive whistle. Contradictory as Elma's epistle might have appeared to an ordinary reader, she understood it readily enough. It was Mrs Ramsden who was wretched, Elma who was happy—"so happy," despite the atmosphere of disapproval. The crisis had arrived!

In five minutes' time, Cornelia was in her friend's room, holding her hands, gazing into her face, kissing her flaming cheeks.

"Elma, is it? It is! I can see it in your face! Oh, you dear thing! When? How? I'm crazy to know. Tell me every single thing."

Elma laughed; a delicious little laugh of conscious happiness.

"Yes, yes, it is! Oh, Cornelia, isn't it wonderful? I can't believe it! It's partly your doing, you know, and I love you for that, but doesn't it seem impossible that he can really care for—me!" She turned her exquisite, flower-like face towards her friend, with an expression of humility as sweet as it was sincere. "He might have had anybody, and he chooses—me! Oh, Cornelia, I never knew that one could live, and be so happy! It seems like a dream."

"Wake up, then, and get down to facts! I'm crazy to hear all about it. When was it settled?"

"This morning."

"Only this morning! I calculated it would come off Monday at latest."

"No, it didn't. Of course he was very—I mean, I knew—we both understood, but Geoffrey says he couldn't possibly have spoken plainly while I was a guest under his own roof. It wouldn't have been the right thing. He was obliged to wait till I got home!"

"My! how mediaeval. I should have thought Geoffrey Greville had more snap to him, than to hang on to such worn-out notions. Fancy letting you go away, and driving down in cold blood next morning! It's the dullest thing!"

"It's not dull at all!" contradicted Elma, hotly. "It's noble, and manly, and self-sacrificing. I love him for it—

"'I could not love thee, dear, so much Loved I not honour more!'"

"Shucks!" sniffed Cornelia, scornfully. "I'd as lief have a little less high-falutin', and a lot more push. I wouldn't mind if it was his house ten times over, I'd want him to feel he couldn't wait another five minutes, and settle it off, so's we could have a good time together. If he let me come away, not knowing if he were in fun or earnest, I'd have led him a pretty dance for his pains. But you're so meek; I bet you dropped into his mouth like a ripe plum!"

Elma drew herself up with a charming dignity.

"I told him the truth without any pretences, if that is what you mean," she said quietly. "I am perfectly satisfied with Geoffrey's behaviour, and I'd rather not discuss it, Cornelia, please. We may seem old- fashioned to you, but we understand each other, and there is not a thing—not a single thing—I would wish altered. I am perfectly, utterly happy!"

"Bless you, you sweet thing, I see you are, and I'm happy for you! Never mind how it happened; it has happened, and that's good enough. ... How's Mrs Ramsden bearing up?"

Elma's face fell. For a person who had just proclaimed herself completely happy, she looked astonishingly worried and perturbed.

"Oh, my dear, such a scene! I took Geoffrey in to see her, and she couldn't have been more horrified if he had been the most desperate character in the world. She refused to listen to a word. You would not have recognised mother, she was so haughty and distant, and—rude! Some things she said were horribly rude. After he went, she cried! That was the worst of all. She cried, and said she had given her whole life for me for twenty-three years, and was I going to break her heart as a reward? I cried, too, and said, No, I should love her more, not less, but she wouldn't listen. She said if I married Geoffrey it would be as bad as a public refutation of all the principles which I had professed since childhood. Then she called him names, and I got angry. We didn't speak a word all through lunch, and as soon as it was over she sent for a fly to drive to the Manor. She's there still!"

"Shut up with Madame, hatching the plan of campaign! Madame won't like it any better, I suppose!"

Elma flushed miserably.

"No; she's against us, too! Geoffrey told her what he was coming for, and—isn't it curious?—she was quite surprised! She had not suspected a bit, and I'm afraid she was pretty cross. Geoffrey wouldn't let me say it, but I know she doesn't think me good enough. I'm not; that's quite true. No one knows it better than I."