Lord Selbie?—Lord Selbie? Nell worried her memory in vain. She had read extracts from the Fashion Gazette so often, the aristocratic names had passed out of her mind almost before she had pronounced them, and it was not surprising that she should fail to recall this Lord Selbie's.

She had not much time or opportunity for reflection, for the other guests were arriving, and the party was almost complete. As she stood a little apart, she noticed the dresses, and smiled as she felt how incapable she would be of describing their magnificence to mamma. It was her first big dinner party, and she was amused and interested in watching the brilliant groups, and in listening to the small talk.

Lady Wolfer's clear voice could be heard distinctly; but though she talked and laughed with apparent ease and freedom, Nell fancied that her ladyship was not quite at her ease, that there was something forced in her gayety, and that her laugh now and again rang false. Nell saw, too, that Lady Wolfer's glance wandered from time to time to the door, as if she were waiting for some one.

The earl came up to Nell.

"Are we all here? It is late," he said, in his grave way, and glancing at the clock.

Nell looked around and counted.

"One more," she said, in as low a tone. As she spoke, the door opened, and Sir Archie Walbrooke entered.

Nell heard Lady Wolfer hesitate in the middle of a sentence, and saw her turn away, with her back to the door.

Sir Archie came across the room in his usual deliberate fashion, as self-possessed and impassive as if he were quite ignorant that he had kept a roomful of people waiting.

Lady Wolfer gave him her hand without breaking off her conversation with the prime minister, who was chatting and laughing with the carelessness of a boy, and as if he had never even heard of a ministerial crisis.

"Afraid I'm late," said Sir Archie, in slow and even tones. "Cab horse fell down—nearly always does when I'm behind one. Strange."

"I will hand your excuse to the cook," said Lady Wolfer. "I hope he will believe it. None of us do, I assure you."

The butler announced dinner, and the party coupled and filed in, the earl taking a dowager duchess, a good-natured lady with an obvious wig and cheeks which blushed—with rouge—like unto those of a dairymaid. Nell fell to the lot of an undersecretary for the colonies, who was so great a favorite of the prime minister's that no one dreamed of asking the great man without sending an invitation to his friend, who was generally known as "Sir Charles." Like most clever men, he was simplicity itself, and he watched Nell through his pince-nez as she surveyed the brilliant line of guests round the long, oblong table, with an interest in her interest.

"How well Lady Wolfer is looking to-night," he said, staring at the hostess at the head of the table. Her eyes were bright, a faint flush on her cheeks, and her soft hair, which her maid had arranged as advantageously as short hair can be dressed, shone in the subdued light of the shaded candles. "One is so accustomed to seeing her in—well," and he smiled, "strictly business garb, that full war paint strikes one with the revelation of her prettiness."

"Yes; isn't she pretty?" said Nell eagerly. "But I always think she is; though, of course, I like her best in evening dress."

He smiled at the promptitude of her ingenious admiration.

"If I had my way, your sex should always wear one of two costumes: a riding habit or dinner dress."

"That would be rather inconvenient," said Nell. "Imagine walking out on a wet day in a habit or a ball frock!"

"I know," he said. "But I don't think you ought to walk out on a wet day."

"You ought to live in Turkey," said Nell, with a laugh.

"That is rather neat," he said approvingly; "but pray, don't repeat my speech to Lady Wolfer; she would think me exceedingly frivolous, and I spend my time in the endeavor to convince her of my gravity and discretion."

"Are all politicians supposed to be grave?" asked Nell, glancing at the prime minister, who had just related an anecdote in his own inimitable manner, and was laughing as heartily as if he had not a care in the world.

Sir Charles followed her eyes and smiled.

"Judging by Mr. Gresham, one would answer with an emphatic negative," he said. "But he is an exception to the rule. He is only grave when he is in the House—and not always then. I have known him crack a joke—and laugh at it—at the very moment the fate of his ministry swung in the balance. Some men are born boys, and remain so all their lives, and some——" He stopped and involuntarily looked at his host, who sat at the end of the table, his tall, thin figure bolt upright, his face with a kind of courteous gravity. He had heard the anecdote and paid it the tribute of a smile, but the smile had passed quickly, and his countenance had resumed its wonted seriousness in a moment.

"I always regard Lord Wolfer as a model of what a statesman should seem," said Sir Charles. "I mean that he, more than any man I know, comes up to the popular idea of a great statesman—that is, in manner and bearing."

Nell remained silent. It was not befitting that she should discuss her host and employer; and she wondered whether the clever undersecretary beside her knew who she was and the position she held in the house. She did not know enough of the world to be aware that nowadays one discusses one's friends—even at their own tables—with a freedom which would have shocked an earlier generation.

"I often think," he continued, "that Lord Wolfer would have served the moralists as an instance of the vanity of human wishes."

"Why?" Nell could not help asking.

"Think of it!" he said, with a slight laugh. "He is the bearer of an old and honored title, he is passing rich, he is a cabinet minister, he is married to an extremely clever and charming lady—we agreed that she is pretty, too, didn't we?—and——" He paused a moment. "Should you say that Lord Wolfer is a happy man?"

As he put this significant question, which explained his remark about the vanity of human wishes, Nell looked at the earl. He was apparently listening to the duchess by his side; but his eyes, under their straight, dark brows, were fixed upon his wife, who, leaning forward slightly, was listening with downcast eyes and a smile to Sir Archie, a few chairs from her.

Nell flushed.

"N-o, I don't know," she said, rather confusedly. "Lord Wolfer has so much on his mind—politics, and——He is nearly always at work; he is often in his study writing until early morning."

Sir Charles looked at her quickly.

"You know them very well. You are staying here?" he asked.

"I live here," said Nell simply. "I am what Sir Archie Walbrooke calls 'general utility.' Lady Wolfer has so much to do, and I help her keep house, or try and persuade myself that I do."

Sir Charles was too much a man of the world to be discomfited; but he laughed a little ruefully as he said:

"That serves me right for discussing people with a lady with whom I haven't the honor and pleasure of an acquaintance. It reminds me of that very old story of the man at the evening party, which you no doubt remember."

"No; I've heard so few stories, old or new," said Nell, smiling. "Please tell it me."

"I will if you'll tell me your name in exchange; mine is Fletcher, but I am usually called Sir Charles because Mr. Gresham honors me with his close friendship. 'Charles, his friend,' as they used to put it in the old play books, you know."

"I see; and my name is Lorton, Eleanor Lorton, commonly called Nell Lorton—because I have a brother. And the story?"

Sir Charles laughed.

"Oh, it's too old; but, old as it is, I had forgotten to take its moral to heart. A man was leaning against the wall, yawning, at an evening party. He was fearfully bored, for he knew scarcely any one there, and had been brought at the last moment by a friend. As he was making up his mind to cut it, another man came and leaned against the wall beside him and yawned, also. Said the first: 'Awful slow, isn't it?' 'Yes,' replied Number Two, 'frightful crush and beastly hot.' 'Dreadful. I could stand it a little longer if that woman at the piano would leave off squalling. Come round to my club, and let us get a drink and a smoke.' 'Nothing would give me more pleasure! Wish I could!' replied Number Two. 'But you see, unfortunately for me, this is my house, and the lady at the piano is my wife.'"

Nell laughed.

"It is a good story," she said. "The first man must have felt very foolish."

"Yes," assented Sir Charles; "I know exactly how he felt. I hope you forgive me, Miss Lorton? Can I make amends in any way for my stupidity?"

"You might tell me who some of the people are," said Nell. "I only know them by name—and scarcely as much as that. I have not been here very long, and this is my first dinner party."

"How I envy you!" he said, with a sigh. "Dear me! I seem fated to put my foot into it to-night! But you know what I mean, or you would if you dined out as often as I—and Mr. Gresham do. Whom would you like me to tell you about? I think I know everybody here. One moment! Mr. Gresham is going to tell the story of his losing himself in London; it was in one of the new streets, for the making of which he had been a strong advocate."

They waited until the story was told, and the prime minister had enjoyed the laughter, and then Nell said:

"That little lady with the diamond tiara and the three big rubies on her neck is Lady Angleford—I know her name because I was introduced to her before dinner. I like the look of her so much; and she has so pleasant a voice and smile. Please tell me something about her."

"An easy task," said Sir Charles. "She is Lord Angleford's young wife—an American heiress. I like her very much. In fact, though I have not known her very long, I am honored with her friendship. And yet I ought not to like her," he added, almost to himself.

Nell opened her eyes upon him.

"Why not?" she asked.

Sir Charles was silent for a moment; then he said, as if he were weighing his words, and choosing suitable ones for his auditor:

"Lord Angleford has a nephew who is a great, a very great friend of mine—Lord Selbie. He was Lord Angleford's heir; but—well, his uncle's marriage may make all the difference to him."

Nell knit her brows and made another call on her memory.

"Of course!" she exclaimed, in a tone of triumph, which rather surprised Sir Charles. "I remember reading about it. Lord Selbie! Yes—oh, yes; I recollect."

Her voice grew sad and absent, as she recalled the afternoon when Mrs. Lorton had insisted upon her reading the stupid society paper to Drake. How long ago it seemed! How unreal!

"I dare say," said Sir Charles. "It's one of those things which the world chatters about, and the newspapers paragraph. Poor Selbie!"

"Was he a very great friend of yours?" asked Nell, rather mechanically, her eyes wandering from one face to another.

"Yes, very great," replied the undersecretary, with a warmth which one does not look for in a professional politician. "We were at Eton together, and we saw a great deal of each other afterward, though he went into the army, and I, for my sins, fell into politics. He is one of the best of fellows, an Admirable Crichton, at once the envy and the despair of his companions. There is scarcely anything that Selbie doesn't do, and he does all things well—the best shot, the best rider, the best fencer, the best dancer of his set, and the best-hearted. Poor old chap!"

It was evident that he had, in his enthusiasm, almost forgotten his auditor.

"Where is he now?" asked Nell. "I heard Lady Angleford say that he is abroad."

"Yes. No one knows where he is. He has disappeared. It sounds a strong word, but it is the only one that will meet the case. And perhaps it was the best thing he could do. When a man's prospects are blighted, and his ladylove has jilted him——"

Nell turned quickly. She had tried to remember the whole of the paragraph she had read to Drake, but she could not.

"What was the name of the lady who—who jilted him?" she asked.

Sir Charles was about to reply, and if he had spoken, Nell would have learned Drake's identity; but at that moment there came a lull in the conversation, and before it had recommenced, the prime minister leaned forward and asked a question of his friend. The answer led to a general discussion, and at its close Lady Wolfer smiled and raised her eyebrows at the duchess, received a responsive nod, and the ladies rose.

Sir Archie was the gentleman nearest the door, and he opened it for them. As Lady Wolfer was passing through, a flower fell from the bosom of her dress. He picked it up and held it out to her, with a bow and a smile; but she had turned to say something to the lady behind her, and he drew his hand back and concealed the flower in it.

Nell, who chanced to be looking at him, was, perhaps, the only one who saw the action, and she thought little of it. He could scarcely interrupt Lady Wolfer by a too-insistent restoration of the blossom.

With the flower in his hand, Sir Archie went back to the table. The other men had closed up near the earl, but Sir Archie retained his seat. He allowed the butler to fill his glass and raised it to his lips with his right hand; then, after a moment or two, he took the flower from his left and fixed it in the buttonhole of his coat.

It was a daring thing to do; but he had been—well, not too sparing of the wine, and his usually pale and impassive face was flushed, and indicative of a kind of suppressed excitement.

Perhaps he thought that no one would recognize the flower, and probably no one did—no one, that is, but the earl. His eyes, as they glanced down the row of men, saw the blossom in its conspicuous place in Sir Archie's coat, and the earl's face went white, and his thin lips twitched.

"Have you any wine, Walbrooke?" he asked.

The butler had left the room.

Sir Archie started, as if his thoughts had been wandering.

"Eh? Oh—ah! thanks!" he said.

He took the decanter from the man next him, and filled his glass. The earl's eyes rested grimly upon the flower for a moment, then, as if with an effort, he turned to Mr. Gresham and got into talk with him. No man in the whole world was more ready to talk than the prime minister. The other men joined in the conversation, which was anything but political—all but Sir Archie. He sat silent and preoccupied, filling his glass whenever the decanter was near him, and drinking in a mechanical way, as if he were scarcely conscious of what he was doing. Now and then he glanced at the flower in his coat, deeming the glance unnoticed; but the earl saw it, and every time he detected the downward droop of the eyes, his own grew sterner and more troubled.

Meanwhile, in the drawing-room, the ladies were sipping their coffee and conversing in the perfunctory fashion which prevails while they are awaiting the arrival of the gentlemen.

Lady Wolfer, who had, up to the present, borne her part in the entertainment extremely well, suddenly appeared to have lost all interest and all desire to continue it. She seated herself beside the fire and next the easy-chair into which the duchess had sunk, and gazed dreamily over the screen which she held in her hand. Some of the ladies gathered in little groups, others turned to the books and albums, one or two yawned almost openly. A kind of blight seemed falling upon them. Nell, who was unused to the phenomena of dinner parties, looked round, aghast. Were they all going to sleep? Suddenly she realized that it was at just such a moment as this that she was supposed to come in. She went up to Lady Wolfer and bent down to her.

"Won't somebody play or sing?" she asked. "They all seem as if they were going to sleep."

"Let them!" retorted Lady Wolfer, almost loudly enough for those near to hear. "I don't care. Ask some one to sing, if you like."

Nell went up to a young girl who stood, half yawning, before a picture of Burne-Jones'.

"Will you play or sing?" she asked.

The girl looked at her with languid good humor.

"I'd sing; but I can't. I have no parlor tricks," she said. "Besides, what's the use? Nobody wants it," and she smiled with appalling candor.

Nell turned from her in despair, and met Lady Angleford's eyes bent upon her with smiling and friendly interest. Nell went up to her appealingly.

"I want some one to sing or play—or do something, Lady Angleford," she said.

Lady Angleford laughed, the comprehensive, American laugh which conveys so much.

"And they won't? I know. It isn't worth while till the gentlemen come in," she said. "I know that—now. It used to puzzle me at first; but I know now. You English are so—funny! In America a girl is quite content to sing to her lady friends; but here—well, only men count as audience. They will all wake up when the men appear. I have learned that. Or perhaps you will play or sing?"

Lady Wolfer was near enough to hear.

"Yes, Nell, sing," she said, with a forced smile.

Nell looked round shyly, then went to the piano.

"That's the sweetest girl I've seen in England," said Lady Angleford to her neighbor, who happened to be the dowager duchess. Her grace put up her eyeglasses, with their long holder, and surveyed the slim, girlish figure on its way to the grand piano.

"Yes? She's awfully pretty. And very young, too. A connection of the Wolfers', isn't she? Rather sad face."

"A face with a history," said Lady Angleford, more to herself than the duchess. "Do you know anything about her, duchess?"

Her grace shrugged her fat shoulders sleepily.

"Nothing at all. She's here as a kind of lady companion, or something of the sort. Yes, she's pretty, decidedly. Are you going on to the Meridues' reception?"

Nell sat down and played her prelude rather nervously; then she sang one of the songs which she had sung in The Cottage at Shorne Mills—one of the songs to which Drake had never seemed tired of listening. There was a lull in the lifeless, perfunctory conversation, and one or two of the sleepy women murmured: "Thank you! Thank you very much!"

"Bravo! Sing us something else, Nell!" said Lady Wolfer.

Nell was in the middle of the second song when the men filed in. Some of them came straight into the room and sought the women they wanted, others hung about the doors, and, hiding their yawns, glanced quite openly at their watches.

The earl made his way to his wife where she was sitting by the fire, her eyes fixed on the flames, which she could just see over the top of her hand screen.

"I have to go on to the Meridues' when these have gone," he said. "Are you coming, Ada?"

She glanced up at him. His eyes were fixed on the bosom of her dress, on the spot where the white blossom had shone conspicuously, but shone no longer; and there was a wistful, yearning expression on his grave face.

She did not raise her eyes.

"I don't know. I may be tired. Perhaps I may follow you."

He bowed, almost as he would have bowed to a stranger; then, as he was turning away, he said casually, but with a faint tremor in his voice:

"You have lost your flower!"

She raised her eyes and looked at him coldly.

"My flower? Ah, yes. My maid must have put it in insecurely."

The earl said nothing, but his grave eyes slowly left her face and wandered to Sir Archie and the flower in his buttonhole.

"I will wait for you until twelve," he said, with cold courtesy.

Lady Wolfer rose and went toward Lady Angleford.

"I wish you'd join us, my dear," she said. "Why, the woman movement sprang from America. You ought to sympathize with us."

"Oh, but I'm English now," said Lady Angleford, "and, being a convert, I'm more English than the English. What a charming specimen of your country you have in Miss Lorton! I don't want to rob you of her, but do you think you could spare her to come to us at Anglemere? We are going there almost directly."

Lady Wolfer replied absently:

"Yes, certainly; ask her. It will not matter to me."

"Not matter!" said Lady Angleford. "Why, I should have thought you would have suffered pangs at the mere thought of parting with her. She is an angel! Did you hear her sing just now? I don't know much about your English larks, but I was comparing her with them——"

Lady Wolfer fanned herself vigorously.

"Ask her, by all means," she said. "Oh, yes; of course I shall miss her."

As she spoke, Sir Archie came toward her. A faint flush rose to her face. Her eyes fell upon the white flower in his buttonhole.

"Why—how——Is that my flower?" she said, in a low voice.

"Yes," he replied. "It is yours. You dropped it, and I picked it up. Has any one a better right to it?"

She looked up at him half defiantly, half pleadingly.

"You have no right to it," she said, in a low voice, which she tried in vain to keep steady. "You—you are attracting attention——"

She glanced at the women near her, some of whom were eying the pair with sideway looks of curiosity.

"I am desperate," he said; "I can bear it no longer. I told you the other day that I had come to the end of my power of endurance. You—you are cold—and cruel. I want your decision; I must have it. I cannot bear——"

"Hush!" she said warningly, the screen in her hand shaking. "I will speak to you later—after—after some of them have gone. No; not to-night. Do not remain here any longer."

"As you please," he said, with a sullen resentment; and he crossed the room to Nell, and began to talk to her. As a rule, he talked very little; but the wine had loosened his tongue, and he launched out into a cynical and amusing diatribe against society and all its follies.

Nell listened with surprise at first; then she began to feel amused, and laughed.

He drew a chair near her and bent toward her, lowering his voice and speaking in an impressive tone quite unusual with him. To the casual observer it might well have seemed that they were carrying on a desperate flirtation; but every now and then he paused absently, and presently he rose almost abruptly and went into an anteroom.

An antique table with writing materials stood in a recess. He wrote something rapidly on a half sheet of note paper, and placing it inside a book, laid the volume on the pedestal of a SÈvres vase standing near the table.

When he left Nell, Lady Wolfer crossed over to her.

"Sir Archie has been amusing you, dear?" she said, casually enough; but the smile which accompanied the remark did not harmonize with the unsmiling and anxious eyes.

"Oh, yes," said Nell, laughing. "He has been talking the most utter nonsense."

"He—he is very strange to-night," said Lady Wolfer, biting her lip softly. Not to innocent Nell could she even hint that Sir Archie had taken more wine than was good for him. "He has been talking utter nonsense to me. Did you notice the flower in his coat?"

"No," said Nell, with some surprise. "Why?"

Lady Wolfer laughed unnaturally.

"Nothing. Yes! Nell, I want you to get that flower from him. It—is a bet."

"I—get it from him?" said Nell, opening her gray eyes.

Lady Wolfer flushed for a moment.

"It is only a piece of folly," she said. "But—but I want you to get it. Ask him for it—he cannot refuse. Oh, I can't explain! I will, perhaps; but get it!"

She moved away as Sir Archie reappeared in the doorway. He came straight up to Nell.

"I think I'll be off," he said. "Some of the others have gone already."

He went toward Lady Wolfer as if to say "Good night," but, with the skill which every woman can display on occasion, Lady Wolfer turned from him as if she did not see him, and joined in the conversation which was being carried on by the duchess and Lady Angleford.

"I've come to say good night, Lady Wolfer," he said.

She met his gaze for a moment.

"Good night," she said, in the conventional tone. He bowed over her hand, looked at her with an intense and questioning gaze for an instant, then left her and came back to Nell.

"Oh, I've forgotten!" he exclaimed, half turning as if to rejoin the group he had left; then he hesitated, and added: "Will you be so kind as to give Lady Wolfer a message for me?"

"Yes, certainly," said Nell, rather absently; for she was wondering how she could ask for the flower, on which her eyes were unconsciously fixed.

"Thanks! You are always so kind. Will you tell her, please, that the book she wants is on the SÈvres pedestal, just behind the vase. She will want it to-night."

Nell nodded.

"I won't forget," she said. "Are you going to take that poor flower into the cold, Sir Archie?"

She blushed as she asked the question; but he was too absorbed in the fatal game of passion to notice her embarrassment.

"The flower?" he said unthinkingly. "It is nearly faded already; too poor an offering to make you, Miss Lorton; but if you will accept it——"

He had expected her to refuse laughingly, but she replied simply:

"Thank you; yes, I should like to have it," and in his surprise he took it from his coat, and, with a bow, handed it to her, wished her good night, and left her. At the door he paused and looked in the direction of Lady Wolfer, met her eyes for an instant, then went out.

Nell was about to place the flower on the table, but, quite unthinkingly, stuck it in the bosom of her dress. As she was crossing the room to some people who were taking their departure, the earl came up to her.

"I am going to the library presently, and may not see Lady Wolfer before I leave. Will you please tell her that I hope she will not go out to-night? I think she is looking tired—and—and overstrained. Do you not think so?"

His tone was so full of anxiety, there was so sad and strained an expression in his grave face, as he looked toward his young wife, who was talking rather loudly and laughing in a way women will when there is anything but laughter in their hearts, that Nell's sympathy went out to him. It was as if suddenly she understood how much he cared for the woman who was wife to him in little more than the name.

"Yes, yes! I will tell her," she said. "I am sure she will not go if you do not wish it."

He smiled bitterly, and, for once dropping the cold reserve which usually masked him, said, with sad bitterness:

"You think she considers my wishes so closely?"

Nell looked up at him, half frightened by the intensity of his expression.

"Why—yes!" she faltered.

He smiled as bitterly as he had spoken; then his manner changed suddenly, and his eyes became fixed on the flower in her dress.

"Where did you get that flower? Who——" he asked, almost sternly.

Nell's face flamed; then, ashamed of the uncalled-for blush, she laughed.

"Sir Archie Walbrooke gave it me," she said.

The earl looked at her with surprise, which gradually changed to a keen scrutiny, under which Nell felt her blush rising again. But she said nothing, and, after a moment during which he seemed to be considering deeply, he passed on, his hands clasped behind his tall figure, his head bent.

Immediately the last guest had gone, Lady Wolfer went to her own apartments. Nell stood in the center of the vast and now empty room, and looked round her absently, and with that sense of some pending calamity which we call presentiment.

Innocent of the world and its intrigues, as she was, she could not fail to have seen that neither the earl nor the countess was happy; and that the endless work and excitement in which they endeavored to absorb themselves only left them dissatisfied and wretched.

She liked them both; indeed, she had grown very fond of Lady Wolfer, and her heart ached for the woman who had striven to hide her unhappiness behind the mask of a forced gayety and recklessness. For a moment, a single moment, as she caught sight of the flower, a vague suspicion of the danger which threatened the countess arose in Nell's mind; but she put the suspicion from her with a shudder, for it was too dreadful to be entertained.

Sometimes she went to Lady Wolfer's room after she had retired, and, remembering the earl's message, she went now upstairs and knocked at the countess' door.

A low voice bade her come in, and Nell entered and found Lady Wolfer sitting on a low chair before the fire. She was alone, and the figure crouching before the blaze, as if she were cold, aroused Nell's pity. She crossed the room and bent over her.

"Are you ill, dear, or only tired?" she asked gently.

Lady Wolfer started and looked up at her, and Nell saw that her face was white and drawn.

"Is it you?" she said. "I thought it was Wardell"—Wardell was her maid. "Yes, I am tired."

"Lord Wolfer has asked me to beg you not to go out to-night. He saw that you looked tired," she said.

Lady Wolfer gazed in the fire, and her lips curled sarcastically.

"He is very considerate," she said. "Extraordinarily so! One would think he cared whether I was tired or not, wouldn't one, eh, dear?"

"Why do you say that, and so bitterly?" Nell said, in a low voice. "Of course he cares. He is always kind and thoughtful."

Lady Wolfer rose abruptly and, with a short, hard laugh, began to pace up and down the room.

"He does not care in the least!" she said, in a harsh, strained voice. "Why did you come in to-night? I wish you hadn't! I—I wanted to be alone. No, do not go! Stay, now you are here," for Nell had moved to the door. She went back and laid her hand on the unhappy woman's arm.

"Won't you tell me what is the matter?" she said.

Lady Wolfer stopped and sank into the chair again.

"I'm almost tempted to!" she said, with a reckless laugh. "It might be useful to you—as a 'frightful example,' as the temperance people say. Oh, don't you know? You are young and innocent, Nell, but—but you cannot fail to have seen how wretched I am! Nell, you are not only young and innocent, but beautiful. You have all your life before you—you, too, will have to choose your fate—for we do choose it! Don't wreck your life as I have wrecked mine; don't, don't marry a man who does not love you—as I did!"

"Hush!" said Nell, startled and shocked. "You are wrong, quite wrong!"

Lady Wolfer laughed bitterly.

"I've said too much; I may as well tell you all," she said, with a shrug of her white shoulders. "It was a marriage of convenience. We—my people—were poor, and it was a great match for me. There was no talk of love—love!" She laughed again, and the laugh made Nell wince. "It was just a bargain. Such bargains are made every day in this vile marriage market of ours. I was as innocent as you, Nell. The glitter of the thing—the title, the big house, the position—dazzled me. I thought I should be more contented and satisfied. Other girls have done the same thing, and they seemed happy enough. But I suppose I am different. I wearied of the whole thing—the title, the big house, the diamonds, everything—before the first month. I wanted something else; I scarcely knew what——Ah, yes, I did! I did! I wanted love—the thing they all laugh and sneer at! I had sold myself for gold and place and power, and when I had gotten them they all turned to Dead Sea fruit, dust and ashes, on my lips!"

She gripped her hands tightly, and bent lower over the fire, and Nell sank on her knees beside her, pale herself, and incapable of speech.

"For a time I tried to bear it, to live the weary, dragging life; then, when I was nearly mad—I tried to find relief in the world outside my own home. I was supposed to be clever—clever! I could write and talk. I took up this woman's rights business!" She laughed again. "All the time they were lauding me to the skies and flattering and fooling me, I knew how stupid the whole thing was. But it seemed the only chance for me, the only way of forgetting myself and—and my slavery. At any rate, it served as an excuse for getting out of the house, for not inflicting my presence upon the man who had bought me, and who regarded me simply as the figurehead for his table, the person to receive his guests and play the necessary part in his public life."

"No, no! You're wrong, wrong!" said Nell earnestly.

Lady Wolfer seemed scarcely to have heard her.

"I ought to have known that it would not help me long. It has come to an end. I am going to end it. I cannot bear this life any longer—I cannot, I cannot! I will not! I have only one life—that I know of——"

"Oh, hush, hush!" Nell implored. "You are all wrong! I know it, I am sure of it! You think he does not care for you. He does, he does! If you had seen his face to-night—had heard his voice!"

Lady Wolfer looked at her with a half-startled glance; then she shook her head and smiled bitterly.

"No, I am not wrong," she said. "I know what love is—at last! It beckons me—I have resisted—God knows I have struggled with and fought against it—have kept it from me with both hands—but my strength has failed me at last, and——"

Nell caught her arm and clung to it.

"Oh, what do you mean?" she asked, in vague terror.

Lady Wolfer started, and slowly unclasped Nell's hands.

"I have said too much," she said, panting and moistening her parched lips. "I did not mean to tell you—no, I will not say another word. I don't know why I am so unnerved, why I take it so much to heart I think—Nell, I am fond of you; you know it?"

Nell made a gesture of assent, and touched the countess' clasped hands lovingly, tenderly.

"I—I think it is your presence here that—that has made me hesitate—has made me realize the gravity of what I am going to do. I—I never look at you, hear you speak, but I am reminded that I was once, and not so long ago, as innocent as you. But I can hesitate no longer. I have to decide, and I have decided!"

She rose and stood with her hands before her face for the moment; then she let them fall with a sigh, and forced a smile.

"Go now, dear!" she said. "I—I wish I had not spoken so freely; but that tender, loving heart of yours is hard to resist."

"What is it you have decided to do?" Nell asked, scarcely above her breath.

A deep red rose slowly to the countess' face, then slowly faded, leaving it pale and wan, and set with determination.

"I cannot tell you, Nell," she said. "You—you will know soon enough. And when you know, I want you—I want you to think not too badly of me, to remember how much I have suffered, how hard and cruel my life has been—how I have hungered and thirsted for one word, one look of love; that I have struggled and striven against my fate, and have yielded only when I could endure no longer. Oh, go now, dear!"

"Let me stay with you to-night! I can sleep on this couch—on this chair—beside you, if you like," pleaded Nell, confused and frightened, but aching with pity and sympathy. "I know that it is all wrong, that you are mistaken. If I could only convince you! If I could only tell you what I saw in Lord Wolfer's eyes as he looked at you to-night!"

The countess shook her head.

"It is you who are mistaken," she said, "and it is too late. No, you shall not stay. I have done wrong to say so much. Try—try and forget it. But yet—no, don't forget it, Nell. Remember me and my wretchedness, and let it be a warning to you, if ever you are tempted to marry a man who does not love you, whom you do not love. Ah, but you must go, Nell! I am worn out!"

Nell went to her and put her arm round her neck, and drew her face down that she might kiss her, but the countess gently put Nell's arm from her, and drew back from the proffered kiss.

"No; you shall not kiss me!" she said, in a low voice. "You will be glad that you did not—presently! Stay—give me that flower!" she said, holding out her hand, but looking away.

Nell started, and drew the flower from her bosom as if it had been something poisonous, and flung it in the fire.

The countess shrugged her shoulders with an air of indifference, and turned to watch the flower withering and consuming in the fire, and Nell, with something like a sob, left her.

What should she do? She understood that her friend stood on the verge of a precipice; but how could she—Nell—with all her desire to save her, drag her back?

As she was going to her room she heard a step in the hall, and, looking over the balustrade, saw the earl pass from the library to the drawing-room. For an instant she was half resolved to go down to him, to—what? How could she tell him? She dared not!

Lord Wolfer wandered into the drawing-room and stood before the fire, looking into it moodily, as he leaned against the great mantelpiece of carved marble.

He was thinking of the flower which he had seen first in his wife's possession, then in Sir Archie's, and lastly in Nell's; and of her blush and confusion when he had asked her how she came by it. He knew Sir Archie, knew him better and more of his life than Sir Archie suspected. The man was a perfect type of the modern lover; incapable of a fixed passion, as fickle as the wind. Could it be that he had transferred, what he would have called his "devotion," from the countess to Nell? It seemed at first sight too improbable; but Wolfer knew his world and the ethics of the smart set of which Sir Archie Walbrooke was a conspicuous member too well to scout the idea as impossible. The fact that Sir Archie had spent the last three months flirting with one woman would be no hindrance to his transferring his attentions to a younger and prettier one.

The harassed man turned away with a weary sigh, wandered purposelessly into the anteroom, and, in a mechanical fashion, fingered the various articles on the writing table. His eye fell on the book on the pedestal, and he took up the volume absently, intending to restore it to its place in the bookcase. On his way he opened the book, and a half sheet of note paper fell from it and fluttered to his feet. He picked it up, read what was written on it, and stood for a moment motionless, his eyes fixed on the carpet, his lips writhing.

How long he stood there he did not know, but presently he was aroused by the sound of footsteps. He listened. Some one—the rustling of a dress—was approaching the room. He slipped the note into the book and replaced the volume on the pedestal, and quickly stepped behind the portiÈre curtains.

He expected his wife. Should he come forward and confront her? His stern face grew red with shame—for her, for himself. Then, with a sudden leap of the heart, with a sensation of relief which was absolutely painful in its intensity, he saw Nell enter the room and go straight to the pedestal. Her face was pale and troubled, and she looked round with what seemed to him a guilty expression in the gray eyes. Then she opened the book as he had done, but, as if she expected to find something, took out the note, and after a moment of hesitation read it. He saw her face flush hotly, then grow white, and her hand go out to the pedestal as if for support. For a moment she stood as motionless as he had done, then she thrust the note into her pocket, dropped the book from her hand—it fell on the floor unregarded by her—and slowly left the room.

Wolfer passed his hand over his brow with a bewildered air, then, as if obeying an irresistible impulse, he followed her up the stairs.

Quietly but slowly. He knew that she had not seen him, did not know that he was following her, and he waited at the end of the corridor, watching her with a heart throbbing with an agony of anxiety. Was she going to carry the note to his wife? But she did not even hesitate at the door of Lady Wolfer's room, but went straight to her own, and he heard the key turn as she locked it.

The sweat was standing in great drops upon his forehead, and he put up a trembling hand and wiped them away as he looked toward his wife's door. Should he go in and question her? Should he ask her straightly whether the note was intended for her or Nell? It seemed too horrible to suspect the girl who had seemed innocence and purity itself, and yet had he not seen her go straight for the book, as if she had known that it was there waiting for her?

Like a man in a dream he went down to the library, and, locking the door, flung himself into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. What was he to think?