e broke off sobbing. He saw her, in her wild excitement, look round
the splendid room as though she would wither it to ruin with one fiery,
accusing glance.

"You are very scornful of wealth," he said, catching her wrists, "but
one thing you have no right to scorn!--the man who has given you his
inmost heart--and now only asks you to believe in this, that he is not
the cruel hypocrite you are determined to make him!"

His face quivered in every feature. She was checked a moment--checked by
the moral compulsion of his tone and manner, as well as by his words.
But again she tore herself away.

"_Please_ go and order the carriage," she said. "I cannot bear any more.
I _must_ go home and rest. Some day I will ask your pardon--oh! for
this--and--and--" she was almost choked again--"other things. But now I
must go away. There is some one who will help me. I must not forget
that!"

The reckless words, the inflection, turned Aldous to stone.
Unconsciously he drew himself proudly erect--their eyes met. Then he
went up to the bell and rang it.

"The brougham at once, for Miss Boyce. Will you have a maid to go with
you?" he asked, motioning the servant to stay till Miss Boyce had given
her answer.

"No, thank you. I must go and put on my things. Will you explain to Miss
Raeburn?"

The footman opened the door for her. She went.

CHAPTER XIV.

"But this is unbearable!" said Aldous. "Do you mean to say that she is
at home and that she will not see me?"

Mrs. Boyce's self-possession was shaken for once by the flushed
humiliation of the man before her.

"I am afraid it is so," she said hurriedly. "I remonstrated with
Marcella, but I could do nothing. I think, if you are wise, you will not
for the present attempt to see her."

Aldous sat down, with his hat in his hand, staring at the floor. After a
few moments' silence he looked up again.

"And she gave you no message for me?"

"No," said Mrs. Boyce, reluctantly. "Only that she could not bear to see
anybody from the Court, even you, while this matter was still
undecided."

Aldous's eye travelled round the Mellor drawing-room. It was arrested by
a chair beside him. On it lay an envelope addressed to Miss Boyce, of
which the handwriting seemed to him familiar. A needle with some black
silk hanging from it had been thrust into the stuffed arm of the chair;
the cushion at the back still bore the imprint of the sitter. She had
been there, not three minutes ago, a