, he had heard every word that had been said, and he was
pitying her! What right had he, what did she want with his
compassion? She met his glance with one of defiance, and then
turned her back upon him; she must remain where she was, she
could not go out of the room alone, but, at any rate, he
should not have the opportunity of letting her see that he
pitied her.

Horace, however, who had in fact heard every word of the
conversation, and perhaps understood Madelon's looks well
enough, came up to her, as she stood alone, watching the
people stream by her out of the room.

"There is supper going on somewhere," he said; "will you come
and have some, or shall I bring you an ice here?"

"Neither," she answered, quickly. "I--I don't want anything,
and I would rather stay here."

"Perhaps you are right," he said. "We shall have the room to
ourselves in a minute, and then it will be cooler."

In fact, the room was nearly deserted--almost every one had
gone away to supper. Madelon stood leaning against the window,
half hidden by the curtain; the sudden gleam of defiance, of
resentment against Horace, had faded; it had vanished at the
sound of his kind voice, which she loved better than any other
in the world. But there were tears of passion still in her
eyes; her little moment of joyousness and triumph had been so
cruelly dashed from her; she felt hurt, humiliated, almost
exasperated.

"How hot it is!" she said, glancing round impatiently. "Where
is every one gone? Cannot we go too? No, not in to supper.
What is going on in that little room? I have not been there."

"It leads into the garden, I think," answered Graham. "Shall
we see? Wait a moment. I will fetch you a shawl, and then, if
you like, we can go out."

He strode off quickly. There was vexation and perplexity in
his kind heart too. He understood well enough how the girl had
been wounded--his little Madelon, for whom it would have seemed
a small thing to give his right hand, could such a sacrifice
have availed her aught. And he could do nothing. His
compassion insulted her, his interference she would have
resented; no, he could do nothing to protect his little girl.
So he thought as he made his way into the cloak-room to
extract a shawl. He was going his way in the world, and she
hers, and she might be suffering, lonely, unprotected, for
aught that he could do, unless--unless----

"Those cloaks belong to Lady Adelaide's party," cried the
maid, as Graham