e
have all constructed, destined, no doubt, to the same rapid collapse as
some of us have quailed under. Paul, with lamentable honesty, talked
almost as much of his stupid peasants as of his beautiful companion,
which pleased her not too well. Etta, with a strange persistence,
brought the conversation ever back and back to the house in London, the
house in Petersburg, the great grim castle in the Government of Tver,
and the princely rent-roll. And once on the subject of Tver, Paul could
scarce be brought to leave it.

"I am going back there," he said at length.

"When?" she asked, with a composure which did infinite credit to her
modest reserve. Her love was jealously guarded. It lay too deep to be
disturbed by the thought that her lover would leave her soon.

"To-morrow," was his answer.

She did not speak at once. Should she try the extent of her power over
him? Never was lover so chivalrous, so respectful, so sincere. Should
she gauge the height of her supremacy? If it proved less powerful than
she suspected, she would at all events be credited with a very natural
aversion to parting from him.

"Paul," she said, "you cannot do that. Not so soon. I cannot let you
go."

He flushed up to the eyes suddenly, like a girl. There was a little
pause, and the color slowly left his face. Somehow that pause frightened
Etta.

"I am afraid I must go," he said gravely at length.

"Must--a prince?"

"It is on that account," he replied.

"Then I am to conclude that you are more devoted to your peasants than
to--me?"

He assured her to the contrary. She tried once again, but nothing could
move him from his decision. Etta was perhaps a small-minded person, and
as such failed to attach due importance to this proof that her power
over him was limited. It ceased, in fact, to exist as soon as it touched
that strong sense of duty which is to be found in many men and in
remarkably few women.

It almost seemed as if the abrupt departure of her lover was in some
sense a relief to Etta Sydney Bamborough. For, while he, lover-like, was
grave and earnest during the small remainder of the evening, she
continued to be sprightly and gay. The last he saw of her was her
smiling face at the window as her carriage drove away.

Arrived at the little house in Upper Brook Street, Maggie and Etta went
into the drawing-room, where biscuits and wine were set out. Their maids
came and took their cloaks away, leaving them alone.

"Paul and I