ly even yet.

"I have a story to tell you," she said; "a story that will interest you,
if you will listen."

By this time Cecil's anger was settling down into sulkiness. "I have no
alternative, I suppose."

Then Elisabeth told him, as briefly as she could, the story of George
Farringdon's son; and, as she spoke, she watched the sulkiness in his
face give place to interest, and the interest to hope, and the hope to
triumph, until the naughty child gradually grew once more into the
similitude of a Greek god.

"You are right--I am sure you are right," he said when she had finished;
"it all fits in--the date and place of my birth, my parents' poverty and
friendlessness, and the mystery concerning them. Oh! you can not think
what this means to me. To be forever beyond the reach of poverty--to be
able to do whatever I like for the rest of my life--to be counted among
the great of the earth! It is wonderful--wonderful!" And he walked up
and down the room in his excitement, while his voice shook with emotion.

"I shall have such a glorious time," he went on--"the most glorious time
man ever had! Of course, I shall not live in that horrid Black
Country--nobody could expect me to make such a sacrifice as that; but I
shall spend my winters in Italy and my summers in Mayfair, and I shall
forget that the world was ever cold and hard and cruel to me."

Elisabeth watched him curiously. So he never even thought of her and of
what she was giving up. That his gain was her loss was a matter of no
moment to him--it did not enter into his calculations. She wondered if
he even remembered Quenelda, and what this would mean to her; she
thought not. And this was the man Elisabeth had once delighted to
honour! She could have laughed aloud as she realized what a blind fool
she had been. Were all men like this? she asked herself; for, if so, she
was glad she was too cold to fall in love. It would be terrible indeed
to lay down one's life at the feet of a creature such as this; it was
bad enough to have to lay down one's fortune there!

Throughout the rest of the interview Cecil lived up to the estimate that
Elisabeth had just formed of his character: he never once remembered
her--never once forgot himself. She explained to him that Christopher
Thornley was the man who would manage all the business part of the
affair for him, and give up the papers, and establish his identity; and
she promised to communicate with Cecil as soon as she receive