ne, I am always thinking
of you, and I want to tell you my vision of heaven would be to possess
you for my wife. My happiest dream will always be that you are there--at
Bracondale--queen of my home and my heart, darling. _My_ darling! But
however it may be, whether you decide to chase away every thought of me
or not, I want you to know I will go on worshipping you, and doing my
utmost to serve you with my life.--For ever and ever your devoted
lover."

And then he signed it "Hector," and not "Bracondale."

The widow had promised to give it into Theodora's own hand on the
morrow.

He added a postscript:

"I want you to meet my mother and my sister in London. Will you let me
arrange it? I think you will like Anne. And oh, more than all I want you
to come to Bracondale. Write me your answer that I may have your words
to keep always."

* * * * *

Mrs. McBride came round in the morning to the private hotel in the
Avenue du Bois, to ask the exact time of the dinner-party, she said. She
wanted to see for herself how things were going. And the look in
Theodora's eyes grieved her.

"I am afraid it has gone rather deeply with her," she mused. "Now what
can I do?"

Theodora was unusually sweet and gentle, and talked brightly of how
glad she was for her father's happiness, and of their plans about
England; but all the time Jane McBride was conscious that the something
which had made her eyes those stars of gracious happiness was
changed--instead there was a deep pathos in them, and it made her
uncomfortable.

"I wish to goodness I had let well alone, and not tried to give her a
happy day," she said to herself.

Just before leaving, she slipped Hector's letter into Theodora's hand.
"Lord Bracondale asked me to give you this, my child," she said, and she
kissed her. "And if you will write the answer, will you post it to him
to the Ritz."

All over Theodora there rushed an emotion when she took the letter. Her
hands trembled, and she slipped it into the bodice of her dress. She
would not be able to read it yet. She was waiting, all ready dressed,
for Josiah to enter any moment, to take their usual walk in the Bois.

Then she wondered what would the widow think of her action, slipping it
into her dress--but it was done now, and too late to alter. And their
eyes met, and she understood that her future step-mother was wide awake
and knew a good many things. But the kind woman put her arm rou