people who do good by stealth and blush to find it known, when some of
their benevolent acts have come to light, and they wish to deprecate
praise.

Livingstone gazed piercingly at her for several instants without moving
a muscle of his face; suddenly its fixed and stern expression--you could
not say softened, but--broke up all at once like a sheet of ice
shivering.

"Let there be peace," he said, sententiously. "We forgive all the errors
of your long vacation in consideration of the good it has evidently done
you. You are looking brilliantly!"

There was an unusual softness, almost a tremor, in his deep voice as he
spoke the last words, and a look in his bold eyes that many trained
coquettes would have shrunk from--a look that I should be sorry and
angry to see turned on any woman in whom I felt an interest--a look such
as Selim Pasha might wear as the Arnauts defile into his harem-court,
bringing the fair Georgians home.

Flora Bellasys only smiled in saucy triumph.

"You say you never pay compliments," she answered, "and I always _try_
to believe you. We will suppose this one is only the truth extorted. My
glove--thank you." The same smile was on her lip as she turned her head
once in her haughty progress to the door.

As Guy sat down again, and filled a huge glass with claret, I heard him
mutter between his teeth, "_Royale, quand même_!"