wledge was
the first serious disillusionment of his life. The deception had been
small, and perhaps intended in some mysterious way to be "for his own
good"; but it had been a distinct deception and no better than a lie. He
was sure of that.

He went upstairs slowly and Regina met him at the door of their rooms,
and took his hat and stick without a word, for she saw that something
had happened, and she felt suddenly cold. He was quite unlike himself.
The careless look was gone from his face, his young lips were tightly
closed, and he looked straight before him, quite unconscious that his
manner was hurting her desperately.

"Has Settimia been out to-day?" he asked, looking at her quickly.

"I don't know," she answered, surprised. "I went for a long walk this
morning. She probably went out into the village. I cannot tell. Why do
you ask?"

"I wish to know whether she sent a note to Saint Moritz by a messenger.
Can you find out, without asking her a direct question? I am very
anxious to know."

"I will try, but it will not be easy," said Regina, watching him.

She had made up her mind that the blow was coming, and that Marcello was
only putting off the moment when she must be told that he meant to leave
her. She was very quiet, and waited for him to speak again, for she was
too proud to ask him questions. His inquiry about Settimia was in some
way connected with what was to come. He sat down by the table, and
drummed upon it absently with his fingers for a moment. Then he looked
up suddenly and met her eyes; his look of troubled preoccupation faded
all at once, and he smiled and held out one hand to draw her nearer.

"Forgive me," he said. "All sorts of things have happened to-day. I have
been annoyed."

She came and bent over him, turning his face up to hers with her hands,
very gently. His eyes lightened slowly, and his lips parted a little.

"You are not tired of Regina yet," she said.

"No!" he laughed. "But you were right," he added, almost immediately.

"I knew I was," she answered, but not as she had expected to say the
words when she had seen him come in.

She dared not hope to keep him always, but she had not lost him yet, and
that was enough for the moment. The weight had fallen from her heart,
and the pain was gone.

"Was it what I thought?" she asked softly. "Does your stepfather wish to
separate us?"

"For a little while," Marcello answered. "He says we ought to part for a
few weeks, so that