f their glitter in a look of wistfulness, as he
pondered a moment the one sweet memory in a wasted life, a life wrecked
over thirty years ago--wrecked wantonly by that same Ostermore of whom
they spoke, who had been his friend.

A groan broke from his lips. He took his head in his hands, and, elbows
on the table, he sat very still a moment, reviewing as in a flash the
events of thirty and more years ago, when he and Viscount Rotherby--as
Ostermore was then--had been young men at the St. Germain's Court of
James II.

It was on an excursion into Normandy that they had met Mademoiselle
de Maligny, the daughter of an impoverished gentleman of the chetive
noblesse of that province. Both had loved her. She had preferred--as
women will--the outward handsomeness of Viscount Rotherby to the sounder
heart and brain that were Dick Everard's. As bold and dominant as any
ruffler of them all where men and perils were concerned, young Everard
was timid, bashful and without assertiveness with women. He had
withdrawn from the contest ere it was well lost, leaving an easy victory
to his friend.

And how had that friend used it? Most foully, as you shall learn.

Leaving Rotherby in Normandy, Everard had returned to Paris. The affairs
of his king gave him cause to cross at once to Ireland. For three years
he abode there, working secretly in his master's interest, to little
purpose be it confessed. At the end of that time he returned to Paris.
Rotherby was gone. It appeared that his father, Lord Ostermore, had
prevailed upon Bentinck to use his influence with William on the errant
youth's behalf. Rotherby had been pardoned his loyalty to the fallen
dynasty. A deserter in every sense, he had abandoned the fortunes of
King James--which in Everard's eyes was bad enough--and he had abandoned
the sweet lady he had fetched out of Normandy six months before his
going, of whom it seemed that in his lordly way he was grown tired.

From the beginning it would appear they were ill-matched. It was her
beauty had made appeal to him, even as his beauty had enamoured her.
Elementals had brought about their union; and when these elementals
shrank with habit, as elementals will, they found themselves without a
tie of sympathy or common interest to link them each to the other. She
was by nature blythe; a thing of sunshine, flowers and music, who craved
a very poet for her lover; and by "a poet" I mean not your mere rhymer.
He was downright stolid and st