th."

"She certainly was very much living and of the world when I saw her
last, two years ago," said Mrs. Van Loo, with an easy smile. "I dare say
that was a ruse of her relatives--a very stupid one--to break off the
affair, for I think they had other plans. But, dear me! now I remember,
was there not some little quarrel between you before? Some letter from
you that was not very kind? My impression is that there was something
of the sort, and that the young lady was indignant. But only for a time,
you know. She very soon forgot it. I dare say if you wrote something
very charming to her it might not be too late. We women are very
forgiving, Mr. Demorest, and although she is very much sought after, as
are all young American girls whose fathers can give them a comfortable
'dot', her parents might be persuaded to throw over a poor prince for
a rich countryman in the end. Of course, you know, to you Republicans
there is always something fascinating in titles and blood, and our dear
friend is like other girls. Still, it is worth the risk. And five years
of waiting and devotion really ought to tell. It's quite a romance!
Shall I write to her and tell her I have seen you, looking well and
prosperous? Nothing more. Do let me! I should be delighted."

"I think it hardly worth while for you to give yourself that trouble,"
said Demorest quietly, looking in Mrs. Van Loo's smiling eyes, "now that
I know the story of the young lady's death was a forgery. And I will not
intrude further on your time. Pray give yourself no needless hurry over
your packing. I may go to San Francisco this afternoon, and not even
require the rooms to-night."

"At least, let me make you a present of the souvenir as an
acknowledgment of your courtesy," said Mrs. Van Loo, passing into her
bedroom and returning with the photograph. "I feel that with your five
years of constancy it is more yours than mine." As a gentleman Demorest
knew he could not refuse, and taking the photograph from her with a low
bow, with another final salutation he withdrew.

Alone by himself in a corner of the veranda he was surprised that
the interview had made so little impression on him, and had so little
altered his conviction. His discovery that the announcement of his
betrothed's death was a fiction did not affect the fact that though
living she was yet dead to him, and apparently by her own consent.
The contrast between her life and his during those five years had been
covertl