Ina rose, and, with a delicate movement of her milk-white hand, turned the mountain of gold and column of notes toward Ashmead. “Make haste, please,” she whispered; then put on her gloves deliberately, while Ashmead shoved the gold and the notes anyhow into the inner pockets of his shooting-jacket, and buttoned it well up.

“Allons,” said she, calmly, and took his arm; but, as she moved away, she saw Zoe Vizard passing on the other side of the table. Their eyes met: she dropped Ashmead's arm and made her a sweeping courtesy full of polite consideration, and a sort of courteous respect for the person saluted, coupled with a certain dignity, and then she looked wistfully at her a moment. I believe she would have spoken to her if she had been alone; but Miss Maitland and Fanny Dover had, both of them, a trick of putting on noli-me-tangere faces among strangers. It did not mean much; it is an unfortunate English habit. But it repels foreigners: they neither do it nor understand it.

Those two faces, not downright forbidding, but uninviting, turned the scale; and the Klosking, who was not a forward woman, did not yield to her inclination and speak to Zoe. She took Ashmead's arm again and moved away.

Then Zoe turned back and beckoned Vizard. He joined her. “There she is,” said Zoe; “shall I speak to her?”

Would you believe it? He thought a moment, and then said, gloomily, “Well, no. Half cured now. Seen the lover in time.” So that opportunity was frittered away.

Before the English party left the Kursaal, Zoe asked, timidly, if they ought not to make some inquiry about Mr. Severne. He had been taken ill again.

“Ay, taken ill, and gone to be cured at another table,” said Vizard, ironically. “I'll make the tour, and collar him.”

He went off in a hurry; Miss Maitland faced a glass and proceeded to arrange her curl.

Fanny, though she had offered no opposition to Vizard's going, now seized Zoe's arm with unusual energy, and almost dragged her aside. “The idea of sending Harrington on that fool's errand!” said she, peevishly. “Why, Zoe! where are your eyes?”

Zoe showed her by opening them wide. “What do you mean?”

“What—do—I—mean? No matter. Mr. Severne is not in this building, and you know it.”

“How can I know? All is so mysterious,” faltered Zoe. “How do you know?”

“Because—there—least said is soonest mended.”

“Fanny, you are older than me, and ever so much cleverer. Tell me, or you are not my friend.”

“Wait till you get home, then. Here he is.”

Vizard told them he had been through all the rooms; the only chance now was the dining-room. “No,” said Fanny, “we wish to get home; we are rather tired.”

They went to the rail, and at first Vizard was rather talkative, making his comments on the players; but the ladies were taciturn, and brought him to a stand. “Ah,” thought he, “nothing interests them now; Adonis is not here.” So he retired within himself.

When they reached the Russie, he ordered a petit souper in an hour, and invited the ladies. Meantime they retired—Miss Maitland to her room, and Fanny, with Zoe, to hers. By this time Miss Dover had lost her alacrity, and would, I verily believe, have shunned a te'te-'a-te'te if she could; but there was a slight paleness in Zoe's cheek, and a compression of the lips, which told her plainly that young lady meant to have it out with her. They both knew so well what was coming, that Zoe merely waved her to a chair and leaned herself against the bed, and said, “Now, Fanny.” So Fanny was brought to bay.

“Dear me,” said she piteously, “I don't know what to do, between you and Aunt Maitland. If I say all I think, I suppose you will hate me; and if I don't, I shall be told I'm wicked, and don't warn an orphan girl. She flew at me like a bull-dog before your brother: she said I was twenty-five, and I only own to twenty-three. And, after all, what could I say? for I do feel I ought to give you the benefit of my experience, and make myself as disagreeable as she does. And I have given you a hint, and a pretty broad one, but you want such plain speaking.”

“I do,” said Zoe. “So please speak plainly, if you can.”

“Ah, you say that.”

“And I mean it. Never mind consequences; tell me the truth.”

“Like a man, eh? and get hated.”

“Men are well worth imitating, in some things. Tell me the truth, pleasant or not, and I shall always respect you.”

“Bother respect. I am like the rest of us; I want to be loved a little bit. But there—I'm in for it. I have said too much, or too little. I know that. Well, Zoe, the long and the short is—you have a rival.”

Zoe turned rather pale, but was not so much shaken as Fanny expected.

She received the blow in silence. But after a while she said, with some firmness, “Mademoiselle Klosking?”

“Oh, you are not quite blind, then.”

“And pray which does he prefer?” asked Zoe, a little proudly.

“It is plain he likes you the best. But why does he fear her so? This is where you seem all in the dark. He flew out of the opera, lest she should see him.”

“Oh! Absurd!”

“He cut you and Vizard, rather than call upon her with you.”

“And so he did.”

“He flew from the gambling-table the moment she entered the room.”

“Behind him. She came in behind him.”

“There was a large mirror in front of him.”

“Oh, Fanny! oh!” and Zoe clasped her hands piteously. But she recovered herself, and said, “After all, appearances are deceitful.”

“Not so deceitful as men,” said Fanny, sharply.

But Zoe clung to her straw. “Might not two things happen together? He is subject to bleeding at the nose. It is strange it should occur twice so, but it is possible.”

“Zoe,” said Fanny, gravely, “he is not subject to bleeding at the nose.”

“Oh, then—but how can you know that? What right have you to say that?”

“I'll show you,” said Fanny, and left the room.

She soon came back, holding something behind her back. Even at the last moment she was half unwilling. However, she looked down, and said, in a very peculiar tone, “Here is the handkerchief he put before his face at the opera; there!” and she threw it into Zoe's lap.

Zoe's nature revolted against evidence so obtained. She did not even take up the handkerchief. “What!” she cried; “you took it out of his pocket?”

“No.”

“Then you have been in his room and got it.”

“Nothing of the kind! I sent Rosa.”

“My maid!”

“Mine, for that job. I gave her half a crown to borrow it for a pattern.”

Zoe seized the handkerchief and ran her eye over it in a moment. There was no trace of blood on it, and there were his initials, “E. S.,” in the corner. Her woman's eye fastened instantly on these. “Silk?” said she, and held it up to the light. “No. Hair!—golden hair. It is hers!” And she flung the handkerchief from her as if it were a viper, and even when on the ground eyed it with dilating orbs and a hostile horror.

“La!” said Fanny; “fancy that! You are not blind now. You have seen more than I. I made sure it was yellow silk.”

But this frivolous speech never even entered Zoe's ear. She was too deeply shocked. She went, feebly, and sat down in a chair, and covered her face with her hands.

Fanny eyed her with pity. “There!” said she, almost crying, “I never tell the truth but I bitterly repent it.”

Zoe took no notice of this droll apothegm. Her hands began to work. “What shall I do!” she said. “What shall I do!”

“Oh, don't go on like that, Zoe!” cried Fanny. “After all, it is you he prefers. He ran away from her.”

“Ah, yes. But why?—why? What has he done?”

“Jilted her. I suppose. Aunt Maitland thinks he is after money; and, you know, you have got money.”

“Have I nothing else?” said the proud beauty, and lifted her bowed head for a moment.

“You have everything. But you should look things in the face. Is that singer an unattractive woman?”

“Oh, no. But she is not poor. Her kind of talent is paid enormously.”

“That is true,” said Fanny. “But perhaps she wastes it. She is a gambler, like himself.”

“Let him go to her,” said Zoe, wildly; “I will share no man's heart.”

“He will never go to her, unless—well, unless we tell him that she has broken the bank with his money.”

“If you think so badly of him, tell him, then, and let him go. Oh, I am wretched—I am wretched!” She lifted her hands in despair, and began to cry and sob bitterly.

Fanny was melted at her distress, and knelt to her, and cried with her.

Not being a girl of steady principle, she went round with the wind. “Dear Zoe,” said she, “it is deeper than I thought. La! if you love him, why torment yourself?”

“No,” said Zoe; “it is deceit and mystery that torment me. Oh, what shall I do! what shall I do!”

Fanny interpreted this vague exclamation of sorrow as asking advice, and said, “I dare not advise you; I can only tell you what I should do in your place. I should make up my mind at once whether I loved the man, or only liked him. If I only liked him, I would turn him up at once.”

“Turn him up! What is that?”

“Turn him off, then. If I loved him, I would not let any other woman have the least little bit of a chance to get him. For instance, I would not let him know this old sweetheart of his has won three thousand pounds at least, for I noted her winnings. Diamond cut diamond, my dear. He is concealing from you something or other about him and this Klosking; hide you this one little thing about the Klosking from him, till you get my gentleman safe to England.”

“And this is love! I call it warfare.”

“And love is warfare, three times out of four. Anyway, it is for you to decide, Zoe. I do wish you had never seen the man. He is not what he seems. He is a poor adventurer, and a bundle of deceit.”

“You are very hard on him. You don't know all.”

“No, nor a quarter; and you know less. There, dear, dry your eyes and fight against it. After all, you know you are mistress of the situation. I'll settle it for you, which way you like.”

“You will? Oh, Fanny, you are very good!”

“Say indulgent, please. I'm not good, and never will be, if I can possibly help. I despise good people; they are as weak as water. But I do like you, Zoe Vizard, better than any other woman in the world. That is not saying very much; my taste is for men. I think them gods and devils compared with us; and I do admire gods and devils. No matter, dear. Kiss me, and say, 'Fanny, act for me,' and I'll do it.”

Zoe kissed her, and then, by a truly virginal impulse, hid her burning face in her hands, and said nothing at all.

Fanny gave her plenty of time, and then said, kindly, “Well, dear?”

Then Zoe murmured, scarce audibly, “Act—as if—I loved him.”

And still she kept her face covered with her hands. Fanny was anything but surprised at this conclusion of the struggle. She said, with a certain alacrity, “Very well, I will: so now bathe your eyes and come in to supper.”

“No, no; please go and make an excuse for me.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind. I won't be told by-and-by I have done wrong. I will do your business, but it shall be in your hearing. Then you can interfere, if you choose. Only you had better not put your word in till you see what I am driving at.”

With a little more encouragement, Zoe was prevailed on to sponge her tearful eyes and compose herself, and join Harrington at supper.

Miss Maitland soon retired, pleading fatigue and packing; and she had not been gone long, when Fanny gave her friend a glance and began upon Harrington.

“You are very fond of Mr. Severne, are you not?” said she.

“I am,” said Vizard, stoutly, preparing for battle. “You are not, perhaps.”

Fanny laughed at this prompt pugnacity. “Oh, yes, I am,” said she; “devoted. But he has a weakness, you must own. He is rather fond of gambling.”

“He is, I am sorry to say. It is his one fault. Most of us have two or three.”

“Don't you think it would be a pity if he were to refuse to go with us tomorrow—were to prefer to stay here and gamble?”

“No fear of that: he has given me his word of honor.”

“Still, I think it would be hardly safe to tempt him. If you go and tell him that friend of his won such a lot of money, he will want to stop; and if he does not stop, he will go away miserable. You know they began betting with his money, though they went on with their own.”

“Oh, did they? What was his own money?”

“How much was it, Zoe?”

“Fifty pounds.”

“Well,” said Vizard, “you must admit it is hard he should lose his own money. And yet I own I am most anxious to get him away from this place. Indeed, I have a project; I want him to rusticate a few months at our place, while I set my lawyer to look into his affairs and see if his estate cannot be cleared. I'll be bound the farms are underlet. What does the Admirable Crichton know about such trifles?”

Fanny looked at Zoe, whose color was rising high at all this. “Well!” said she, “when you gentlemen fall in love with each other, you certainly are faithful creatures.”

“Because we can count on fidelity in return,” said Vizard. He thought a little, and said, “Well, as to the other thing—you leave it to me. Let us understand one another. Nothing we saw at the gambling-table is to be mentioned by us.”

“No.”

“Crichton is to be taken to England for his good.”

“Yes.”

“And I am to be grateful to you for your co-operation in this.”

“You can, if you like.”

“And you will secure an agreeable companion for the rest of the tour, eh?—my diplomatic cousin and my silent sister.”

“Yes; but it is too bad of you to see through a poor girl, and her little game, like that. I own he is a charming companion.”

Fanny's cunning eyes twinkled, and Zoe blushed crimson to see her noble brother manipulated by this artful minx and then flattered for his perspicacity.

From that moment a revulsion took place in her mind, and pride fought furiously with love—for a time.

This was soon made apparent to Fanny Dover. When they retired, Zoe looked very gloomy; so Fanny asked, rather sharply, “Well, what is the matter now? Didn't I do it cleverly?”

“Yes, yes, too cleverly. Oh, Fanny, I begin to revolt against myself.”

“This is nice!” said Fanny. “Go on, dear. It is just what I ought to have expected. You were there. You had only to interfere. You didn't. And now you are discontented.”

“Not with you. Spare me. You are not to blame, and I am very unhappy. I am losing my self-respect. Oh, if this goes on, I shall hate him!”

“Yes, dear—for five minutes, and then love him double. Come, don't deceive yourself, and don't torment yourself. All your trouble, we shall leave it behind us to-morrow, and every hour will take us further from it.”

With this practical view of matters, she kissed Zoe and hurried to bed.

But Zoe scarcely closed her eyes all night.

Severne did not reach the hotel till past eleven o'clock, and went straight to his own room.