was all.

When Mrs. Carey rose her mind was made up--this time shall we call it
for good or evil? Evil, yes; but not the same evil as yesterday's, nor
the evil of to-morrow. Her headache was feigned. Leaving this answer
with her maid to any inquiries, she stepped out in the early morning
into the streets. It was not hard for her to find out Geoffrey's hotel.
It was a lovely morning in April, before the east wind had sprung up
from the sea, and as she passed through the gardens the crocuses and the
little blue flowers looked up to her as if they smiled--as if they, too,
remembered other days. Mrs. Carey drew her veil about her face and
walked the faster.

Geoffrey had got up that morning as one who arises in a world that is
void. His mission to see the King was ended; now there was nothing left.
He owed to Margaret Windsor his liberty; with that gift she had richly
given all that his friendship could claim. And at the time she had nobly
told him, frankly, kindly, like a true American woman, that here it all
must end. She was to be married; and he, Geoffrey Ripon, was left--free.
But he loved her still; he loved her, and there was no hope in it. What,
then, was left to him? As he bitterly asked the question aloud, some one
opened the door of his room. Mrs. Oswald Carey entered.

"Mrs. Carey!"

"Geoffrey!"

Both were silent, and each stood looking at the other. Never had she
been more beautiful than then. Her old self-possession had gone; there
was a feminine weakness in her attitude, or quiver of the limbs, a
heaving of the breast that made her seem different from the Mrs. Carey
of late years, and beneath the long, trembling lashes he saw her eyes
glorious with the glamour as of youth, tenfold more potent. For a long
time, it seemed, he stood looking at her. At last her strength seemed to
give way, and sinking into a chair she took his hand and kissed it. Then
Geoffrey broke from her.

"This is no place for you," he said, coldly.

"Geoffrey, I have come to tell you again how I loved you. I ought never
to have left you. You will not cast me off from you now?" She spoke
pleadingly, and stretched out one white arm as if to draw him to her.
"The American girl whom you thought you loved is married. We have only
each other, Geoffrey, now. You know you loved me once." She rose to her
full height, and looked deep into his eyes, her own on a level with his.
"See," she faltered, "I leave a king for you." And she drew forth