gh to leave him, but he stops her.

"No, do not go yet," he says. "Let me congratulate you. _Le roi est
mort, vive le roi._ My successor, it seems, was not difficult to find;
and--By-the-by, why are you alone now? Why is not your _new_ lover by
your side?"

"My _first_ lover--_not_ my new lover," she says, bitterly, speaking now
with some spirit.

"I didn't count, I suppose."

"_You--!_" She draws her breath quickly, and, then, having subdued the
indignation that had almost overcome her, goes on quietly: "you never
loved me. There was never a moment in all my knowledge of you when I
could have flattered myself with the thought that I was more to you than
a cousin."

"He is very different, I suppose?" He flushes a dark crimson as he puts
this question.

"Altogether--_utterly_! At least, I can tell myself, I am to him
something more than a necessary evil, a thing forced upon him by
circumstances. To _you_ I was only that, and _worse_. There were moments
when I believe you _hated_ me."

"We need not discuss that now," says Dare coldly. "Where is Gower?"

"I don't know; at least, I am not sure. What do you want with him? There
is no use in quarreling with him," she says, nervously.

"Why should I quarrel with any man because a woman chooses to prefer him
to me? That is her affair altogether."

He walks away from her, and she, moving into the deep embrasure of the
large bow window, stands staring blankly upon the sunlit landscape
without.

But presently he returns and, standing beside her, gazes out, too, upon
the flowers that are bowing and simpering as the light wind dances over
them.

"I am going away this evening," he says, at length, very gently. "It is
uncertain when I shall return. Good-by."

He holds out his hand, awkwardly enough, and even when, after a
momentary hesitation, she lays hers in it, hardly presses it. Yet still,
though he has paid his adieux, he lingers there, and loiters aimlessly,
as if he finds a difficulty in putting an end to the miserable
_tete-a-tete_.

"You were wrong just now," he says, somewhat abruptly, not looking at
her; "there was never one second in my life when I _hated_ you; you need
not have said _that_."

"Where are you going?" asks she, brokenly.

"I don't know. It doesn't matter. But before I go, I want to say to
you--that--that--if ever you _want_ me, even if I should be at the end
of the world, _send_ for me, and I will come to you."

_Are_ there tears in h