But Paul was at once too simple and too clever for matron and maid
alike. Too simple, because he failed to understand the inner meaning of
many pleasant things that the guileless fair one said to him. Too
clever, because he met the subtle matron with the only arm she feared, a
perfect honesty. And when at last he obtained his answer from the coy
and hesitating Etta, there was no gossip in London who could put forward
a just cause or impediment.

Etta gave him the answer one evening at the house of a mutual friend,
where a multitude of guests had assembled ostensibly to hear certain
celebrated singers, apparently to whisper recriminations on their
entertainer's champagne. It was a dull business--except, indeed, for
Paul Howard Alexis. As for the lady--the only lady his honest, simple
world contained--who shall say? Inwardly she may have been in trembling,
coy alarm, in breathless, blushing hesitation. Outwardly she was,
however, exceedingly composed and self-possessed. She had been as
careful as ever of her toilet--as hard to please; as--dare we say
snappish with her maids? The beautiful hair had no one of its aureate
threads out of place. The pink of her shell-like cheek was steady,
unruffled, fair to behold. Her whole demeanor was admirable in its
well-bred repose. Did she love him? Was it in her power to love any man?
Not the humble chronicler--not any man, perhaps, and but few women--can
essay an answer. Suffice it that she accepted him. In exchange for the
title he could give her, the position he could assure to her, the wealth
he was ready to lavish upon her, and, lastly, let us mention, in the
effete, old-fashioned way, the love he bore her--in exchange for these
she gave him her hand.

Thus Etta Sydney Bamborough was enabled to throw down her cards at last
and win the game she had played so skilfully. The widow of an obscure