not even hint to him such a thing as--as--" She stops, confused.

"I shall hint nothing--do nothing, except what you wish. Ah, Mrs.
Talbot"--with a heavy sigh--"you are supremely happy! I envy you! With
your fascinations and"--insinuatingly--"a word in season from me, I see
no reason why you should not claim as your own the man whom you--well,
let us say, like; while I--"

"If I can befriend you in any way," interrupts Dora quickly, "command
me."

She is indeed quite dazzled by the picture he has painted before her
eyes. Can it be--is it--possible, that Sir Adrian may some day be hers?
Apart from his wealth, she regards him with very tender feelings, and of
late she has been rendered at times absolutely miserable by the thought
that he has fallen a victim to the charms of Florence.

Now if, by means of this man, her rival can be kept out of Adrian's way,
all may yet be well, and her host may be brought to her feet before her
visit comes to an end.

Of Arthur Dynecourt's infatuation for Florence she is fully aware, and
is right in deeming that part of his admiration for the beautiful girl
has grown out of his knowledge of her money-bags. Still, she argues to
herself, his love is true and faithful, despite his knowledge of her
_dot_, and he will in all probability make her as good a husband as she
is likely to find.

"May I command you?" asks Arthur, in his softest tones. "You know my
secret, I believe. Ever since that last meeting at Brighton, when my