play with no lady," said her son, meeting her glance steadily. "I have fetched and carried for Kitty, because she was always here, and a woman—and young and pretty perhaps; I have never said a word of love to her."

"You have allowed it to be understood; and if you play her false now, you will kill her. You know how delicate she is. She is dearer to me than you are, ten thousand times over."

The young man bowed stiffly.

"I daresay, but that is no reason why you should persuade me that your will is, or has been, or ever will be, mine."

"Kitty's money would make you very rich."

"That would be the last reason, mother."

"If you brought me Kitty for a daughter, I should love you."

"I have grown used to doing without your love."

Her eyes blazed at him again.

"There is someone else, I suppose?"

"There is someone else," he repeated after her.

"Not someone you have met over there?"

"Yes."

"I thought ill would come of it; but you cared no more for my wishes than your father before you. Who is it?"

"I am sorry you are so bitter, mother. It is Mr. Graydon's daughter."

"Archibald Graydon's daughter!"

She put her hand to her throat with an hysterical gesture which he had never before observed in her. Her face was livid with anger, and for a moment its expression shocked him.

"You are going to jilt my Kitty for that man's daughter!" she cried, when she had recovered her power of speech.

"There is no question of jilting Lady Kitty," he answered steadily. "But I am certainly going to marry Mr. Graydon's daughter, Pamela."

"Some wild savage."

"A beautiful and gentle girl."

"You will be beggars together."

"Not necessarily. We shall not be very rich, but that is another thing."

Lady Jane turned from him, and gazed at the fire. For several minutes there was silence between them. Then she spoke again without looking at him.

"You will go your own way, I suppose—only give me time to soften the blow it will be to Kitty."

He would have spoken, but she lifted her hand with an imperious gesture, and went on—

"Kitty loves you. Why she should I do not know, but, most unfortunately, it is true. I shall never speak of it again after this. Give me time, I beg you."

There was something imploring in her gesture.

"You can have plenty of time," he said. "But even yet I cannot believe she loves me. A woman's love is not given on such slight grounds. Why, I have never pressed her hand even."

"You know nothing about it. Would it have made any difference to you if you had believed she loved you?"

"You will not dare to play with Kitty."—p. 203.

"None. I love once and for ever."

"If I believed that to be true, I should be sorry for you."

"It is true, mother."

She waved him off contemptuously.

"It is true of a few people in this world, but you are not one of them."

"Mere assertion is nothing."

"Are you engaged to this—this young woman?" She brought the words out with a jerk.

"In honour, yes; formally, no."

"Ah, then you will go away, and I shall have my own time for telling Kitty."

"Yes, if you wish for it."

"You will not engage yourself to the girl till Kitty knows?"

"You are exacting, mother. I have to think of Miss Graydon too."

"You can think of her all your life. It is my Kitty that is to be deserted and betrayed. You don't know what you are doing."

"Mother, it is some mania of yours. Desertion and betrayal are strong words."

"Let them pass. Technically, I suppose you are free from reproach."

He made a weary gesture, and let her speech pass without answer.

Suddenly the silence of the room was broken by the frou-frou of a silk dress in the corridor outside.

"Ah, here is my Kitty," said Lady Jane. "Are you cold, my darling? and was your party pleasant? Come to the fire."

A young lady, slight and brilliantly fair, had entered the room languidly.

"So you have come, Anthony," she said, extending a white hand to him. "I hope you had a pleasant journey."

He helped her to take off her cloak, and she seated herself, as if by right, in the most comfortable chair in the room. The fire leaped and sparkled in the grate and brought millions of rays from the diamonds in her hair and on her neck.

"How cosy you are here!" she said. "It was a horrid party—so dull! That is why I came home early."

"You would like some tea?" said Lady Jane.

"Yes, please. Oh, thank you," as Anthony rang the bell. "It is pleasant to see you home again."

Lady Jane stooped and kissed her tenderly.—p. 206.

"He is leaving us very soon," said Lady Jane, and her tones were again cold and measured. "He feels it his duty to go to nurse his Uncle Wilton."

"Why?" said the young woman, lifting her eyebrows. "Is there no one at Washington to look after him? Or is the lot of a diplomat so friendless?"

Anthony frowned at her tone.

"He is very ill, and he is my father's only brother. My place is with him."

"You are a self-sacrificing young man. First, you bury yourself among Irish savages; now, at a moment's notice, you are off to nurse the sick. I should think a valet would do quite as well."

"Here is your tea, Lady Kitty," the young man said coldly.

"By the way, I sat beside such a pleasant old man at dinner, Sir Rodney Durant. He asked me about you, and I told him of your exile. I ought to apologise for calling your hosts savages, by the way, for he told me a most interesting story about your tutor—Graydon, isn't it? It seems old Lord Downside cut him off with an angry penny because he married some friendless little beauty. Scandal said the old lord himself had pretensions. And then, to spite his heir, he married his cook or someone, and has a wretchedly delicate little boy of thirteen or thereabouts. Why didn't you tell me, Auntie Janie, or did you not know?"

"I never take notice of gossip, Kitty."

"But is it gossip? You ought to know, for your husband and this man were friends. To hear Sir Rodney, the man Graydon was a sort of hero of romance."

"An old man's stories, my dear."

But Sir Anthony's face had brightened.

"Graydon is a splendid fellow," he said. "I am sure he is all Sir Rodney said." And his smile at Lady Kitty was now full of friendliness.

"Well, I'm sure it's nice to hear of such people nowadays," said Lady Kitty, yawning, "I thought they only existed in books. But such an interesting story, Auntie Janie! If you knew of it, why didn't you tell me, instead of treating the man as a kind of bucolic savage?"

Lady Jane stooped and kissed her tenderly.

"Go to bed, my darling," she said; "and don't sit up romancing. You must have your beauty-sleep, you know."

"Bother my beauty-sleep!" said the young lady irreverently.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE GREAT EVENT.

The Vandaleur function was over, and for a long time to come the young women of that part must feel a certain flatness in their days, as one does when an event eagerly expected is over and done with.

For the sisters the function had been a series of triumphs, to all appearance. They had been, as Miss Spencer put it, "dressed as befitted their position."