the strong broad shoulders and the down-bent head that was hidden from
her sight.

And then the mother knew at last the secret of her son's heart. It was
Vera whom Maurice loved.




CHAPTER XXV.

ST. PAUL'S, KNIGHTSBRIDGE.

Hide in thy bosom, poor unfortunate,
That love which is thy torture and thy crime,
Or cry aloud to those departed hosts
Of ghostly lovers! can they be more deaf
To thy disaster than the living world?
Who, with a careless smile, will note the pain
Caused by thy foolish, self-inflicted wound.

Violet Fane, "Denzil Place."


Upon the steps of the Charing Cross Hotel stood, one morning in June, a
little French gentleman buttoning his lavender gloves. He wore a glossy
new hat, a frock-coat, and a flower in his button-hole; he had altogether
a smart and jaunty appearance.

He hailed a passing hansom and jumped into it, taking care as he did so