ly. Now, no man likes to be
given the lie direct even by a lady; and Maurice was a man who was
scrupulously truthful, and proud of his veracity; he lost his temper
fairly.

"I have never told you a lie yet," he began furiously; "and if you think
so, it is time----"

"Maurice! Maurice!" she cried, frantically, stopping the outspoken words
upon his lips, and seeing in one minute that she had gone too far. "My
darling, forgive me; I did not mean to say it. Yes, of course, I believe
you; don't say anything unkind to me, for pity's sake. You know how much
I love you; kiss me, darling. No, Maurice, I won't let you go till you
kiss me, and say you forgive your foolish, jealous little Helen!"

It was the old story over again; angry reproaches--bitter words--insults
upon her side; to be succeeded, the minute he turned round upon her, by
wild cries of regret and entreaties for forgiveness, and by the pleading
of that love which he valued so little.

She drove him wild with anger and indignation; but she never would let
him go--no, never, however much he might strain against the chain by
which she held him.

The quarrel was patched up again; he stooped and kissed her. A man must
kiss a lady when she asks him. How, indeed, is he to refuse to do so? A
woman's kisses are the roses of life--altogether sweet, and lovely, and
precious. No man can say he dislikes a rose, nor refuse so harmless and
charming a gift when it is freely offered to him without absolute
churlishness. Maurice could not well deny her the embrace for which her
upturned lips had pleaded. He kissed her, indeed; but it will be easily
understood that there was very little spontaneity of affection in that
kiss.

"Now let me go," he said, putting her from him gently but coldly; "I want
to speak to my mother."

The two younger ladies wandered out into the garden, whilst Maurice
sought his mother's room.

"Mother, I have been to see John this morning. I am afraid he is really
very ill," he said, gravely.

Lady Kynaston shrugged her shoulders. "He is like a baby over that
foolish affair," she said, impatiently. "He does not seem able to get
over it; why does he shut himself up in his rooms? If he were to go out
a little more----"

"He has been out; it is that that has made him ill. He went out a few
mornings ago--the wind was very cold; he says it is that which gave him a
chill. But, from what he says, I fancy he saw, or he thinks he saw, Miss
Nevill."

Lady