His mother had hinted at it only just now! Marian feared, she
said--feared to step aboard his sinking ship. Where, then, was her
love, that perfect love that casteth out all fear?

A wave of anger rushes over him as he looks at her now--smiling,
fair, with large, deep, gleaming eyes. He tells himself he will know
at once what it is she means--what is the worth of her love.

She is leaning towards him, a soft red rosebud crushed against her
lips.

"Ah, yes! It is true. I _did_ know you were coming," says she
tenderly.

She gives a hasty, an almost imperceptible glance around. Lady
Rylton is often a little--just a _little_--prone to
prying--especially of late; ever since the arrival of that small
impossible heiress, for example; and then very softly she slips her
hand into his.

"What an evening!" says she with delicate fervour. "How sweet, how
perfect, Maurice!"

"Well?" in a rather cold, uncompromising way.

Mrs. Bethune gives him a quick glance.

"What a tone!" says she; "you frighten me!"

She laughs softly, sweetly. She draws closer to him--closer