w's happiness, or her
good name," he said, not without dignity. "And as one may not see her,
there is no more to be said."

He held out his hand. But Mrs Mayhew's manners were not proof against
so severe a shock to her maternal vanity. She bowed as if the gesture
had escaped her notice.

"Good-bye, Mr Maurice," she said rigidly.

He returned her bow in silence, slipped the rejected hand into his
pocket, and went out.

In passing through the hall he was aware of a slim white figure coming
down the broad staircase; and without an instant's hesitation he stood
still. In spite of "the little she-dragon in there," he would see her
yet. For the knowledge that he had lost her increased her value
tenfold.

"You are really pleased with it--tell me?" he said eagerly as their
hands met, for he saw the question in her eyes.

"Pleased? You know I am. It is _much_ too good of you to give me such
a splendid present; and father is simply delighted. But why are you
going away? I thought you would stay to tea."

He still held her hand, in defiance of a gentle attempt to withdraw it,
and now he pressed it closer.

"Unhappily I must go," he said, without looking at her. "Your mother
will tell you why, better than I can do. Good-bye---_petite amis_.
Think well of me, if you can."

He bent over her hand, kissed it lingeringly, and was gone before she
could find words to express her bewilderment.

CHAPTER XVI.

"What we love we'll serve, aye, and suffer for too."
--W. Penn.

After sunset the mist came down again, thick as cotton-wool. Heaven
and earth were obliterated, and a quietly determined downpour set in
for the night.

Quita was still at her easel, trying bravely to disregard the collapse
of her happy omen; Michael lounging in a cane chair, with Shelley and a
cigarette. He had returned from Jundraghat in a mood of skin-deep
nonchalance, beneath which irritation smouldered, and Quita's news had
set the sparks flying. Behold him, therefore, doubly a martyr; ready,
as always, to make capital out of his crown of thorns. A renewed
pattering on the verandah slates roused him from the raptures of the
Epipsychidion.

"Well, at least you can't think of going _now_," he said, flinging the
book aside with a gesture of impatience. "That's one blessing, if the
rest's a blank."

Quita, who was washing out her brushes, looked round quickly.

"I'm sorry to leave you alone in a bad mood, Michael;