ulie had wandered farther away, as though it pleased her to
be left to herself.

"But I would do anything--everything!" cried Lord Lackington. "Of
course, none of us can undo the past. But I offered yesterday to make
full provision for her. She has refused. She has the most Quixotic
notions, poor child!"

"No, let her earn her own living yet awhile. It will do her good.
But--shall I tell you secrets?" The Duchess looked at him, knitting her
small brows.

"Tell me what I ought to know--no more," he said, gravely, with a
dignity contrasting oddly with his school-boy curiosity in the matter of
little Aileen's lover.

The Duchess hesitated. Just in front of her was a picture of the
Venetian school representing St. George, Princess Saba, and the dragon.
The princess, a long and slender victim, with bowed head and fettered
hands, reminded her of Julie. The dragon--perfidious, encroaching
wretch!--he was easy enough of interpretation. But from the blue
distance, thank Heaven! spurs the champion. Oh, ye heavenly powers, give
him wings and strength! "St. George--St. George to the rescue!"

"Well," she said, slowly, "I can tell you of some one who is very
devoted to Julie--some one worthy of her. Come with me."

And she took him away into the next room, still talking in his ear.

* * * * *

When they returned, Lord Lackington was radiant. With a new eagerness he
looked for Julie's distant figure amid the groups scattered about the
central room. The Duchess had sworn him to secrecy, indeed; and he meant
to be discretion itself. But--Jacob Delafield! Yes, that, indeed, would
be a solution. His pride was acutely pleased; his affection--of which he
already began to feel no small store for this charming woman of his own
blood, this poor granddaughter _de la main gauche_--was strengthened and
stimulated. She was sad now and out of spirits, poor thing, because, no
doubt, of this horrid business with Lady Henry, to whom, by-the-way, he
had written his mind. But time would see to that--time--gently and
discreetly assisted by himself and the Duchess. It was impossible that
she should finally hold out against such a good fellow--impossible, and
most unreasonable. No. Rose's daughter would be brought back safely to
her mother's world and class, and poor Rose's tragedy would at last work
itself out for good. How strange, romantic, and providential!

In such a mood did he now devote himself to Julie. He