king side by
side, and very close; one ungloved hand lay upon her knee.

He leaned over and took it, and attempted to draw her towards him.

"No, no, not that; please not that."

"Why?"

"Can't you see--can't you understand? You and I are going to part--this
very night, in fact, and--and--Oh, please do not."

He paid little heed to what she was saying, but drew her closer to him.
The blood rushed to her cheeks, suffusing them with a deep red glow.
Nearer and nearer he drew her, until, half-resisting, half-willing, her
lips met his. It was but for an instant, and then all was over. She drew
herself away from him, and the blood faded from her face until it was
very white. Two tears welled up into her big blue eyes, overflowed, and
ran down her cheeks.

"Oh, why did you do it? Otherwise we might have remained friends. But
now," and she looked him fair in the face, while her words came slowly
and distinctly, "you belong to me, for you are the only man that has
ever kissed my lips."

A little shiver passed over Jack as he heard her speak. He could find no
explanation for the feeling.

The next day Miss Easton found on her plate at breakfast a big bunch of
red roses. Attached to them was a card, and on it the single word
"Adieu!"

III

A month later Violet Easton sat at the writing-desk in her little
private parlor. Her elbows were on the table, and her head rested on her
hands. Scalding tears were in her eyes, and try as she would they forced
themselves down her cheeks. Before her lay a letter, which she had read
for the twentieth time.

It was a simple, commonplace note at best, and seemed hardly worthy of
calling forth such feeling. It ran as follows, and was in a man's
handwriting:

"MY DEAR MISS EASTON,--Remembering that you told me you
expected this week to run up to New York, I write in behalf
of my wife to ask if you will give us both the pleasure of
your company at dinner on Thursday evening.

"If you like, we can go afterwards to the play.

"How is Midnight, and is he still performing as brilliantly
as ever?

"Sincerely, J. MORDAUNT."

At last, with a great effort, she stopped her tears, and wiping her eyes
with her soaking handkerchief, drew out a piece of note-paper from the
blotter and began to write.

The first three attempts were evidently failures, for she tore them up
and threw the pieces into a scrap-basket; the fourth e