n, and the
world will hear of him before he has done. But, however, all this is
neither here nor there. Beatrice is a curious woman, and has strange
ideas, but I am sure that she would never carry on with a married man."

"But he might carry on with her, Miss Elizabeth."

She laughed. "Do you really think that a man like Mr. Bingham would try
to flirt with girls without encouragement? Men like that are as proud
as women, and prouder; the lady must always be a step ahead. But what
is the good of talking about such a thing? It is all nonsense. Beatrice
must have been thinking of some other Geoffrey--or it was an accident of
something. Why, Mr. Davies, if you for one moment really believed that
dear Beatrice could be guilty of such a shameless thing as to carry on
a flirtation with a married man, would you have asked her to marry you?
Would you still think of asking such a woman as she must be to become
your wife?"

"I don't know; I suppose not," he said doubtfully.

"You suppose not. I know you better than you know yourself. You would
rather never marry at all than take such a woman as she would be proved
to be. But it is no good talking such stuff. If you have a rival you may
be sure it is some unmarried man."

Owen reflected in his heart that on the whole he would rather it was a
married one, since a married man, at any rate, could not legally take
possession of Beatrice. But Elizabeth's rigid morality alarmed him, and
he did not say so.

"Do you know I feel a little upset, Miss Elizabeth," he answered. "I
think I will be going. By the way, I promised to say nothing of this to
your father. I hope that you will not do so, either."

"Most certainly not," said Elizabeth, and indeed it would be the last
thing she would wish to do. "Well, good-bye, Mr. Davies. Do not be
downhearted; it will all come right in the end. You will always have me
to help you, remember."

"Thank you, thank you," he said earnestly, and went.

Elizabeth watched him round the wall of rock with a cold and ugly smile
set upon her face.

"You fool," she thought, "you fool! To tell _me_ that you 'love her
dearly and want to marry her;' you want to get that sweet face of hers,
do you? You never shall; I'd spoil it first! Dear Beatrice, she is not
capable of carrying on a love affair with a married man--oh, certainly
not! Why, she's in love with him already, and he is more than half in
love with her. If she hadn't been, would she have put Owen o