You've already done things worth doing," the girl broke in; "splendid
things."

"I've done nothing yet, but I'll change that. I'll ask your mother to give
me a chance--to wait--"

"No," she insisted. "Mother would refuse, and everything would be worse
than ever."

"Darling one, they couldn't be worse. Because now, I'm doing what I
oughtn't to do, although it's been forced upon me by my love. To deserve
you in the faintest degree, I must be open in my dealings. I must speak to
Lady Vale-Avon."

"She'll never consent."

"At least I shall have done the right thing. Now we've had this talk, now
you know that you're all the world, and heaven besides, to me, even for
your mother's sake you won't throw me over, will you?"

"No, a thousand times no. I didn't dream loving would be like this. It
would kill me to give you up."

"Then nothing can part us."

"It makes me feel brave to hear you say so. But--you don't know mother."

"I know myself, and I trust you."

"I'm so young, and--I've never been allowed to have my own way. I've always
given up."

"Because you were alone, with no one to help you. Now you have me."

"That's true. But--"

"Precious one, there's no 'but.'"

"I wish I could think so! Yet something seems to say that if you speak to
mother, we shall be lost. I love you--but--_do_ let it be kept secret for a
while."

"With what end?"

"I hardly know. Only, I've the strongest presentiment it would be best."

"And I've the strongest conviction that not only would it be wrong, but
that you wouldn't respect me if I consented."

"I beg of you, wait at least till the royalties leave Biarritz before you
tell mother, or anyone, who you are."

I could not help smiling, though rather bitterly. "You've heard about my
adventure in Barcelona?"

"Yes, from Angele. I couldn't bear it if you were to have trouble here."

"There's no danger of that."

"One can't tell. Circumstances which you don't foresee might seem to
involve you in some plot. Oh, if you love me, wait till the royalties have
gone."

How could I refuse those soft eyes, and those little clasped hands?

I caught the hands and crushed them against my lips, the rosy fingers that
smelled of orris, and the polished nails like pink jewels. As I bent over
my love, the curtain which covered the doorway waved as in a gust of wind.

Quick as light, Monica snatched away her hands, but it was too late.
Carmona was holding back the portiere for Lady V