--your wife. If she would have
countenanced our friendship, it would have been our greatest pride and
pleasure; if she opposes it, we must yield. She has the first right to
your time. After all, Lance, what can it matter? We shall have to part;
what can it matter whether it is now or in three months to come? The
more we see of each other the harder it will be."

A flush as of fire came over his face.

"Why must we part?" he cried. "Oh, Heaven, what a price I pay for my
folly!"

"Here is Highgate Hill," said Leone; "you go no further, Lord Chandos."

Only the silent stars were looking on; he stood for a few minutes at the
carriage door.

"Shall I go to Berlin?" he whispered, as he left her, and her answer was
a low, sad:

"Yes."

CHAPTER LVI.

AN APPROACHING TEMPEST.

The Countess of Lanswell was in despair. Any little social difficulty,
the exposing of an adventuress, the setting aside of a marriage,
intrigues, or a royal invitation, "dropping" people when it was
convenient to do so, and courting them when she required them, to all
and each of these deeds she was quite equal; but a serious case of cruel
jealousy, a heart-broken, desolate wife on the one hand, an obstinate
husband on the other, was past her power of management. Lady Chandos had
written to ask her to come to Stoneland House that day.

"I have something of the greatest importance to say to you," she wrote.
"Do not delay; to-morrow may be too late."

Lady Lanswell received this urgent note just as she was sipping her
chocolate, luxuriously robed in a dressing-gown of silk and softest
velvet, a pretty morning-cap of finest Mechlin lace on her head. Her
handsome, haughty face grew pale as she read it.

"It is a wretched piece of business from beginning to end," she said to
herself. "Now here is my peace of mind for the day gone. I was to have
seen Madame Adelaide soon after noon about my dresses, and the dentist
at three. I know absolutely nothing which I can say to a jealous wife, I
know nothing of jealousy. Most of the wives whom I know are pleased
rather than otherwise when their husbands are away from home. Marion
takes things too seriously. I shall tell her so."

But any little speech of that kind she might have tried to make was
forgotten when she caught the first glimpse of Lady Marion's white,
tragic face.

"My dear child, what is the matter? What a face! why, you have been
crying for hours, I am sure," said the countess. "M