old story, told long, long ago. I am thankful now you did leave me. And,
Mr. McAllister, I must remind you that only to my most intimate friends
am I known as Marie Gourdon. I must beg you to excuse me now; Lady Severn
is calling me."




CHAPTER X.

"O! primavera gioventù dell' anno!
O! gioventù primavera della vitæ!!!"


It was a beautiful afternoon in the middle of June, and the London season
was at its height. Everyone who was anybody of importance was now in
town. Sweet, fresh-looking girls, in the full enjoyment of their first
season, were cantering by, gaily chattering in the Row, their faces
glowing with excitement and pleasure as they caught sight of some
pedestrian acquaintances and nodded their greetings. Stately old dowagers
were enjoying to the full the bright sunshine, as they lay comfortably
back in their well-padded broughams. Here were brilliantly apparelled
men and women, the very butterflies of London society, talking of the
events of yesterday, and speculating on the evening's entertainment, as
they walked leisurely up and down the broad promenade of the Park. But
near, and almost touching the skirts of these favored ones, ran an
undercurrent of poverty, distress and misery. So close allied were the
two streams of human life, that scarce an arm's length divided them.

Here and there, just outside the Park gates, were pale, emaciated women