her hand.
"What is the matter?" he asked, kindly. "Is there any more trouble?"

"It is the same," she said. "You know how unhappy I am; it was foolish
of me to break down here, but I could not help it. Besides, there is
another thing--I wish you would go away."

He walked to the end of the room, then returned and bent over her,
placing his hand on the back of the sofa. "Very well," he said, "I
will go. I should have gone before. I would have done so, but I hated
to leave you alone."

He lifted her face and kissed her. She laid her head against his
shoulder, then she suddenly pushed him from her with a low cry, and
Dartmouth, following her gaze, turned his head in time to meet the
scornful eyes of Miss Penrhyn as she dropped the portiere from her
hand. Dartmouth kicked aside a footstool with an exclamation of
anger. He was acutely conscious of having been caught in a ridiculous
position, and moreover, he would not be the chief sufferer.

"Oh, Harold! Harold!" gasped Margaret, "I am ruined. You know what
women are. By this time to-morrow that girl will have told the story
all over Paris."

The words made Dartmouth forget his personal annoyance for the moment.
"Do not cry any more," he said, kindly; "I am awfully sorry, but I
will see what I can do. I will make a point of meeting the girl, and
I will see that--do not worry. I will go at once, and you had better
remain here for the present. There is no danger of anyone intruding
upon you: this room was never intended for three." He paused a moment.
"Good-bye, Margaret!" he said.

She started sharply, but rose to her feet and put out her hand:
"Good-bye," she said.

He lifted her hand to his lips, then the portiere fell behind him and
she was alone.

He went directly to the ball-room and asked Hollington to present him
to Miss Penrhyn. She was standing with her back to him and did not
notice his approach, and his name was pronounced while her eyes were
still on the face of the man to whom she was talking. She gave him a
glance of swift scorn, bent her head haughtily, and all but turned her
back upon him. But Dartmouth, indolent and lazy as he was, was not the
man to be lightly disposed of when once roused to action.

"Bolton," he said, to her companion, "they are waiting for you in the
billiard-room; you have an engagement to play a game with our host
at twelve. It is now exactly the hour. I will take charge of Miss
Penrhyn;" and before the bewildered Bolton cou