Laurie Meredith found himself in a terrible dilemma. He had thought that he was quite safe in pledging himself to Jewel Fielding, being perfectly sure that he could never love again as he had loved his lost Flower.

But suddenly, and almost hopelessly, it seemed, he found himself most passionately in love with Lord Ivon's great-granddaughter, the proud English beauty.

And it was her wonderful resemblance to Flower that had wiled his heart from his breast.

At times, when looking at her or listening to her musical voice, he could scarcely persuade himself that she was a stranger; she seemed so much like Flower, his lost bride, that he longed to clasp her in his arms, and say:

"You must be Flower, who loved me so dearly once, and who was my adored little bride! Confess the truth, and own that you are only masquerading as the heiress of this proud nobleman!"

If he had followed this wild impulse of his heart all would have been well. She would have been only too happy to find him again, and would gladly have resigned the proudest destiny for his dear sake.

But his reason fought sternly against such folly and madness. He would say to himself, in bitter chiding:

"I am a traitor to Jewel in thus cherishing a mad passion for one whom she instinctively dreaded from the first as a rival. Flower is dead, dead; and this girl, with her face and voice, is but a stranger. Oh, my little love, my blue-eyed Flower, if only I could call you back to my heart!"

His passionate regret for her revived with tenfold force; she seemed to be always in his mind, mixed up strangely with the idea of Azalia Brooke, and people began to say that he had forgotten all the songs he ever knew but one, for when pressed to sing of late he always gave the same song—one that particularly irritated Jewel:

Within a week after that scene in which Jewel had betrayed her angry jealousy of Azalia Brooke, he wished devoutly that he had never entangled himself in an engagement with the imperious brunette.

Could he have followed the dictates of his heart he would not have lost an hour in wooing Azalia Brooke.

She had told him that she was going soon. They had been in Boston more than a month, and Lord and Lady Ivon were getting anxious to resume their travels. They would go to Washington next to see an American Congress in session, and an American President.

When he heard that she was going, he realized, by the terrible pain he felt, that he loved her with his whole soul, that when she was gone, the whole world would seem dark and cold and empty.

He grew impatient with himself at what he called to himself his inexcusable folly. What if he were free to woo, was it likely she would listen?—she, the proud descendant of one of the proudest lords of England. Doubtless she had been taught to have a secret contempt for Americans, and he was a thorough American, proud of his country, proud of its institutions, and though rich, cultured, and well-born, he had no title to lay at the beauty's feet, while Mrs. Raynold Clinton had told him that the young and handsome Earl of Clive was desperately in love with Azalia Brooke.

"He was like her shadow in London last winter," she said. "Azalia refused him, but he would not take no for an answer, and Lord and Lady Ivon are in hopes she will reconsider her decision, as the match is a good one, even for their great-granddaughter."

Every word was a thorn in his heart. He began to realize something of what Jewel's jealousy was to her in the strange pain that racked his heart.

Then he tried to reason with himself. He never could be anything to Azalia Brooke, even if she were not so cold and proud. He belonged to Jewel Fielding, and she had made him understand very plainly that it would not be a safe plan for him to break with her now.

Suddenly the Earl of Clive made his appearance in Boston. He had crossed the Atlantic in order to be near the lady of his heart.

He was young, rich, and good-looking—a trifle arrogant, perhaps, but one with so many gifts of this life has some cause for vanity.

He devoted himself with ardor to Azalia Brooke, causing more than one gallant admirer to think, indignantly:

Jewel Fielding was very glad that Azalia Brooke's titled lover had come upon the scene.

The beautiful brunette was by no means blind to the state of her lover's feelings. She was half maddened with her bitter jealousy of her betrothed and her hatred of Azalia Brooke.

She hoped that Laurie would see the futility of his passion now that Lord Clive had come.