ly ought not to throw away any more
opportunities. Every girl thinks she must have her fling, but you,
dear, should soberly think of getting settled soon. You would not like
to get left, I feel sure."

At this point Muriel sat up suddenly, her dark eyes very bright, and
in brief tones announced that so far as she was concerned the second
Egerton girl was more than welcome to Mr. Fraser and she hoped, if she
wanted him, she would manage to keep him.

It was crudely expressed, as Lady Bassett pointed out with a sigh for
her waywardness; but Muriel always was crude when her deeper feelings
were disturbed, and physical fatigue had made her irritable.

She wished ardently that Lady Bassett would leave her, but Lady
Bassett had not quite done. She lingered to ask for news of poor
little Daisy Musgrave. Had she yet fully recovered from the shock of
her cousin's tragic death? Could she bear to speak of him? She,
Lady Bassett, had always suspected the existence of an unfortunate
attachment between them.

Muriel had no information to bestow upon the subject. She hoped and
believed that Daisy was getting stronger, and had promised, all being
well, to spend Christmas with her.

Lady Bassett shook her head over this declaration. The dear child
was so headlong. Much might happen before Christmas. And what of
Mr. Ratcliffe--this was on her way to the door--had she heard the
extraordinary, the really astounding news concerning him that had just
reached Lady Bassett's ears? She asked because he and Mrs. Musgrave
used to be such friends, though to be sure Mr. Ratcliffe seemed to
have thrown off all his old friends of late. Had Muriel actually not
heard?

"Heard! Heard what?" Muriel forced out the question from between
lips that were white and stiff. She was suddenly afraid--horribly,
unspeakably afraid. But she kept her eyes unflinchingly upon Lady
Bassett's face. She would sooner die than quail in her presence.

Lady Bassett, holding the door-handle, looked back at her, faintly
smiling. "I wonder you have not heard, dear. I thought you were in
correspondence with his people. But perhaps they also are in the dark.
It is a most unheard-of thing--quite irrevocable I am told. But I
always felt that he was a man to do unusual things. There was always
to my mind something uncanny, abnormal, something almost superhuman,
about him."

"But what has happened to him?" Muriel did not know how she uttered
the words; they seemed to come wi