hat should I do without you?"

"Ah! that is very pretty just now. By-and-by we shall see how much value
you have for me."

"Yes, you shall see."

"But seriously, Maurice, you look wretched. One would say you had not
slept for a week."

"On the contrary, I slept later than usual to-day. It is that, I
suppose, which makes me look dull. Here is Sir John. What time will your
drive be?"

They fixed the time, and as soon as breakfast was finished, Maurice went
back to his room. He tore up the letters he had written last night, and
wrote others announcing his return home, took them to the post himself,
and then walked about in sheer inability to keep still, until it should
be time to go to Mrs. Costello's.

He made a tolerably long round, choosing always the noisiest, busiest
streets, and came back to the hotel just as his cousin drove away. He
followed her carriage, and passed it as it stood at Mrs. Costello's
door, went on to the barrier, and coming back, found that it had
disappeared. Now, therefore, probably Mrs. Costello was gone, and now,
if ever, was his opportunity.

When Claudine opened the door for "ce beau monsieur" she was aghast. He
was positively "beau" no longer. He was pale and heavy-eyed. He actually
seemed to have grown thinner. Even his frank smile and word of
wonderfully English French had failed him. She went back to her kitchen
in consternation. "Ce pauvre monsieur! C'est affreux! Something is wrong
with him and mademoiselle. Ma foi, if _I_ had such a lover!"

Mrs. Costello was gone, and Lucia sat alone, and very dreary. At
Maurice's entrance she rose quickly; but kept her eyes averted so that
his paleness did not strike her as it had done others. She coloured
vividly, with a mixture of shame, pride, and gladness, at his coming;
but she only said "Good morning," in a low undemonstrative tone, and
they both sat down in silence.

She had some little piece of work in her hands, but she did not go on
with it, only kept twisting the thread round her fingers, and wondering
what he would say; whether now that they were alone, he would refer to
Percy; whether he would use his old privilege of blaming her when she
did wrong.

But she was not struck down helplessly now as she had been at first
yesterday. She had begun to feel the stings of mortified pride, and was
ready to turn fiercely upon anybody who should give her provocation.

Maurice spoke first.

"I came to say good-bye," he said. "I am obli