in zest in the situation. With the magnetism of
intelligent interest in her own eyes, she turned to Gwynne with a
question that betrayed a flattering acquaintance with one of his less
popular books, then hung upon the monologue of which he promptly
delivered himself. It was characteristic that he either contributed
little to the conversation or monopolized it; and he reflected, as he
talked of the personal experience which led up to the episode of her
interest, that he had never before gazed into eyes at once so lovely and
so fine. He disliked American girls, partly because they had shown no
disposition to join the ranks of those that lived to spoil him, partly
because he believed them to be shallow and cold. Some of the married
women had attracted him, but not before they had lived long enough to
develop the stronger qualities of the older races; he had his ideals and
was not easily satisfied. He was deeply in love with Mrs. Kaye, for her
brilliant subtle mind and powerful appeal to his passions had blinded
him to her defects, and he was convinced that his heart had travelled to
its predestined goal. Nevertheless, he decided that his new cousin, if
as cold as the rest of her youthful compatriots, was worth cultivating
for her intelligence and obvious talent for good-comradeship.

But in a moment a subject was started that entirely diverted his mind
and upset the lively tenor of the breakfast-table.

"Where is Lorcutt?" asked some one, abruptly, referring to a brother of
Lord Brathland, who had lost heavily and cheerfully at Bridge the night
before.

Isabel's eyes happened to have wandered to the face of the man opposite.
To her surprise it became livid. He turned instantly to Gwynne, however,
and said: "I should have told you--I quite forgot--he asked me to make
his excuses. He got a telegram--bad news--Bratty is dead."

Involuntarily Isabel glanced at Mrs. Kaye; Flora had hinted to her of
the lady's designs. That face for once was ghastly and unmasked, but the
eyes were not glittering with grief.

"Impossible!" she cried, sharply. "Lord Brathland? Why--I saw him only
two days ago, in London. He was as well as possible."

The others barely noticed her. Their astonished eyes were fixed on the
first speaker, Captain Ormond, who was sitting very erect, as if to
receive the questions fired at him as a brave man faces the hiss of lead
on the field.

"I know little," he replied; "except that Brathland was suddenly
at