it? Can any one give me change
for half a crown?"

"I'll get it," said the young hostess, rising with decision.

"Cecil, give me that sovereign. No, give me up that sovereign. I'll get
Euphemia to change it, and we'll start the whole thing again from the
beginning."

"Lucy--Lucy--what a nuisance I am!" protested Miss Bartlett, and
followed her across the lawn. Lucy tripped ahead, simulating hilarity.
When they were out of earshot Miss Bartlett stopped her wails and said
quite briskly: "Have you told him about him yet?"

"No, I haven't," replied Lucy, and then could have bitten her tongue
for understanding so quickly what her cousin meant. "Let me see--a
sovereign's worth of silver."

She escaped into the kitchen. Miss Bartlett's sudden transitions were
too uncanny. It sometimes seemed as if she planned every word she spoke
or caused to be spoken; as if all this worry about cabs and change had
been a ruse to surprise the soul.

"No, I haven't told Cecil or any one," she remarked, when she returned.
"I promised you I shouldn't. Here is your money--all shillings, except
two half-crowns. Would you count it? You can settle your debt nicely
now."

Miss Bartlett was in the drawing-room, gazing at the photograph of St.
John ascending, which had been framed.

"How dreadful!" she murmured, "how more than dreadful, if Mr. Vyse
should come to hear of it from some other source."

"Oh, no, Charlotte," said the girl, entering the battle. "George Emerson
is all right, and what other source is there?"

Miss Bartlett considered. "For instance, the driver. I saw him looking
through the bushes at you, remember he had a violet between his teeth."

Lucy shuddered a little. "We shall get the silly affair on our nerves
if we aren't careful. How could a Florentine cab-driver ever get hold of
Cecil?"

"We must think of every possibility."

"Oh, it's all right."

"Or perhaps old Mr. Emerson knows. In fact, he is certain to know."

"I don't care if he does. I was grateful to you for your letter, but
even if the news does get round, I think I can trust Cecil to laugh at
it."

"To contradict it?"

"No, to laugh at it." But she knew in her heart that she could not trust
him, for he desired her untouched.

"Very well, dear, you know best. Perhaps gentlemen are different to what
they were when I was young. Ladies are certainly different."

"Now, Charlotte!" She struck at her playfully. "You kind, anxious thing.
What WOULD you