in her mien, as she comes to greet him,
that brings the tint of embarrassment to his cheek. He ought to tell
her that he belongs to another, but he cannot drag his sad-eyed Violet
out for her inspection.

"Mr. St. Vincent?" she questions, delicately.

"He can hardly live through another night. There was a great deal of
business to do this morning, and it has exhausted him completely. It is
so unfortunate,--his having so few friends here."

"What is to become of his poor child?"

"He has been making arrangements for her. I wish he could have lived a
month longer, then we would have been quite sure of the success or
failure of his patent."

Floyd says this in a grave, measured tone.

"There _is_ always a convent," says madame, with a sweet, serious
smile. "I believe in this country, or at least among Protestants, there
is no such refuge for young or old in times of trouble."

He does not wish to pursue the subject.

"I am so sorry Eugene is not at home. You go to-morrow?"

There is not the slightest inhospitable inflection to this, but if he
had said, "Why do you go?" or "You had better wait," her heart would
have throbbed with pleasure. One could announce a delay so easily by
telegram.

"I meant to see you started on your journey," he begins, and there is a
curious something in his tone. "Briggs had better go and see to your
luggage, and if you will accept my mother's company----"

"You cannot go?" There is a soft pleading, a regret that touches him,
and makes him feel that he is playing false, and yet he surely is not.
There is no reason why he should tell her of the coming step when he
has hardly decided himself.

"No," he answers, briefly. "I ought not leave St. Vincent an hour. My
impression is that he will die at midnight or dawn. I have no one to
whom I can depute any of the arrangements."

It does not enter her mind that a little girl who plays with dolls or
dishes can have anything in common with him. Possibly he may be made
her guardian. She wants to stay, and yet there is no real excuse.

He arranges everything for her journey, but will not bid her good by. A
note can do that more easily, he thinks. Cecil cries and begs to go
with him. Why not take her and Jane? He can send them home again if
need be. Cecil is wild with delight, and madame really envies her.

Violet receives her guest with tears and tender kisses. She has been
sitting with her father, and now he is asleep. Denise has insisted