--mine, too. But that is all; I am not--have not
been. You are mistaken."

"Mistaken?" The word broke from him quickly; the strained expression of
his face gave way to another he could ill conceal. Before the light in
his gaze, the fire, the ardency, her own slowly fell; she turned
slightly as if to go. But he made no effort to stop her, spoke no word.
She took a step, hesitated; John Steele moved.

"Good-by," he said slowly. "I am leaving rather early in the morning; I
shall not see you again."

"Good-by." She raised her head with outward assurance. "At least until
we meet in London," she ended lightly.

"That may not be--"

"Why, you are not thinking of leaving London?" with gaiety perhaps a
trifle forced, "of deserting your dingy metropolis?"

He did not answer; she looked at him quickly; something in his face held
her; a little of the lightness went from hers.

"Once more, good-by, Miss--Jocelyn."

His look was now resolute; but his voice lingered on her name. He
extended his hand in the matter-of-fact manner of one who knew very well
what he had to do; the girl's eyes widened on him. Did she realize he
was saying "Good-by" to her for all time? She held her head higher,
pressed her lips slightly closer. Then she sought to withdraw her hand
but he, as hardly knowing what he did, or yielding to sudden,
irresistible temptation, clasped for an instant the slim fingers closer;
they seemed to quiver in his. The girl's figure moved somewhat from him;
she stood almost amid the roses, dark spots that nodded around her. The
bush was a mass of bloom; did she tremble ever so slightly? Or was it
but the fine, sensitive petals behind her that stirred when kissed by
the sweet-scented breeze?

John Steele breathed deeply; he continued to regard her, so fair, so
beautiful! A leaf fell; she made a movement; it seemed to awaken him to
realization. He started and threw back his head; the dark, glowing eyes
became once more resolute. An instant, and he bent; a breath, or his
lips, swept the delicate, white fingers; then he dropped them. Her hand
swung back against the cold stone; on her breast, something bright--an
ornament--fluttered, became still. Behind, a bird chirped; her glance
turned toward the ball-room.

"I--"

Other voices, loud, merry, coming from one of the open French windows
interrupted.

"Jocelyn!" They called to her; faces looked out. "Jocelyn!"

"Yes!" She was walking rapidly from him now, a laugh, a li