call me what you will. The other side
of life, Cecil's side, doesn't appeal to me a bit. I felt that it would
be more comfortable for you people and for me, if I kept out of the
way."

"You class me with them," she remarked quietly, "a little ruthlessly. I
think you forget that as yet I have not chosen my way in life."

"That is true," he answered, "but how can you help but choose what
every one of those who call themselves your friends regards as
inevitable. You must dance in many ballrooms, and make your bow before
the great ones of the earth. It is a part of the penalty that you must
pay for your name and riches. All that I can wish you is that you lose
as little of yourself as possible in the days that lie before you."

"I thank you," she answered quietly. "You will let me know when you are
ready to take me back."

"Have I offended you?" he asked, as they rose from the table. "I am
clumsy, I know, and the words do not come readily to my mouth. But
after all, you must understand."

"Yes," she said sadly, "I do understand."

They went down to the beach and he helped her into the boat. Her maid
sat by her side, and he rowed them across with a few powerful strokes.

"Storm and sunshine," he remarked, "follow one another here as swiftly
as in any corner of the world. Yesterday we had wind and thunder and
rain. To-day, look! The sky is cloudless, the birds are singing
everywhere upon the marshes, the waves can do no more than ripple in
upon the sands. Will you walk across the marshes, Miss Jeanne, or will
you come to the village and wait while I send for a carriage?"

"We will walk," she answered. "It may be for the last time."

The maid fell behind. Andrew and his companion, who seemed smaller and
slimmer than ever by his side, started on their tortuous way, here and
there turning to the right and to the left to follow the course of some
tidal stream, or avoid the swampy places. The faint odour of wild
lavender was mingled with the brackish scent of the sea. The ground was
soft and spongy beneath their feet, and a breeze as soft as a caress
blew in their faces. Up before them always, gaunt and bare, surrounded
by its belts of weather-stricken trees, stood the Red Hall. Andrew
looked toward it gloomily.

"Do you wonder," he asked, "that a man is sometimes depressed who is
born the heir to a house like that, and to fortunes very similar?"

"Are you poor?" she asked him. "I thought perhaps you were, as your
bro