because Lord Barnstaple would never hear of his marrying me. So there was nothing for it but to telegraph to Aunt Rebecca and take to my heels."

"Yes, I know," answered Lady Grace tranquilly. "Mamma meant to

be kind; and I really think that in the circumstances, she was kind. However fond people may be of one another, they can't marry upon an income which won't support them. But now the circumstances are altogether changed, you see."

"So I hear," observed Chris. "People who are by way of knowing the world assure me that a capital of ninety thousand pounds makes all the difference. But then I, too, in my humble way, have ideas as to what will do and what won't. Perhaps I don't altogether like to be told, 'With a mere three hundred a year, we can't look at you, and the sooner you take yourself off the better; but if you can really bring us as much as three or four thousand a year we shall be willing to do business with you.' Perhaps I may fancy that it would be wiser to keep my three thousand a year and my liberty."

"That is very unfair, Chris," Lady Grace declared. "Gerald never asked or thought about your money. My father would have thought about it, of course, just as all fathers do; but Gerald would have been only too delighted to starve with you in a garret. He told me all about it the day you left Brentstow, and I promised that I would befriend him if I could."

"You didn't do a great deal to befriend him," remarked Chris, who could not help being pleased and mollified by this revelation.

"What could I do? I gave him your address in London, which I thought at the time was rather

leave was up, and since then there has been a change. He seemed to think that there was no chance for him, and I fancied that he might have heard something about you and Mr. Richardson. Something more, at least; for I confess I told him what I had heard from Mamma."

I

"I am glad he didn't tell you," said Chris meditatively; "but I don't think there is any harm in your hearing the truth now. I ran away from my aunt. She poisoned my dear Peter, and I felt that I couldn't live with her after that; so I made my escape from London, meaning to come on here to the Lavergnes, who I knew would receive me. Unfortunately I had to stay a day in Paris, and I came across Mr. Richardson there quite by chance, and then, while I was walking with him, we ran against your brother. was obliged to give some explanation, and I gave a very stupid one, I'm afraid; for your brother seems to have gone away with the idea that he had met with a runaway couple. Perhaps when you write to him you might tell him that it was not as he thought. My cousin, James Compton, pursued me and told me that Aunt Rebecca was very ill, and so I went back to England that same night. It was thought best that, after what had happened (for by an extraordinary stroke of bad luck Mr. Ellacombe also saw me in Paris), my engagement to Mr. Richardson should be acknowledged; but afterwards he behaved in a way that enabled me to claim my release. That's all."

that sort," Grace declared laughing; "Gerald has a very modest opinion of himself. All that I am afraid of is that he is too modest, and that he will require a great deal of backing up before he will consent to fight his own battle. Especially now that he knows how rich you have become."

"Dr. Lavergne," remarked Chris slowly," said a thing yesterday which I didn't like. He said Lady Barnstaple would ask Mr. Severne to come here at once."

Lady Grace laughed again; but her laughter sounded somewhat forced and she coloured a little. She had opened her lips to make some reply when a servant came out of the house to tell the young ladies that everybody had sat down to luncheon; and so the dialogue came to an end.

Lady Barnstaple belonged to that set of people who move about in a pack. They are in London during the season; then they are at Goodwood and Cowes; then they march in a compact mass upon Scotland; then they meet one another at various country houses; and after that a good many of them go to Cannes for the winter. A good many of them were assembled round the luncheon-table at which Lady Grace and Chris took their places, and they were talking, as they always do, with immense interest about one another's affairs, so that the latter was neither noticed nor addressed. She was glad enough to be so insignificant and to be free to pursue her own meditations, which however received an abrupt check when she overheard her hostess saying: "Yes, Gerald arrived last night. I begged him to ask for a week's leave to see his mother, and I need hardly add that he has gone off to Monte Carlo for the day."

"How imprudent of you!" somebody exclaimed. "Fancy deliberately inviting one's son to the neighbourhood of Monte Carlo!"

To which Lady Barnstaple responded with a demure smile, “Oh, I'm not so imprudent as I look."

Chris threw a reproachful glance across the table at Lady Grace, who shrugged her shoulders very slightly, and Dr. Lavergne gained then and there a reputation for sagacity which may have been a trifle above his deserts.

After luncheon Lady Barnstaple was very affectionate to her young friend, who, for her part, was extremely cold and stiff; but later in the afternoon, when her mother had gone out for a drive and the party had dispersed, Lady Grace found an opportunity of enunciating sentiments which had at least the merit of common sense.

"You have no reason to be affronted, Chris," said she; "and if mamma had not been fond of you personally I doubt whether ninety thousand pounds would have tempted

her.

It is a good large fortune, but it isn't enormous; and I dare say she would tell you that Gerald might do better from a worldly point of view. As for him, I must leave him to convince you that he isn't mercenary. If

he can't do it, of course I can't. I persuaded him to go to Monte Carlo to-day, because I wanted him to be out of the way. He didn't know why he had been summoned, and when I told him he was so incredulous and so despondent that I thought I had better see you and find out whether there was any use in his staying on. After what I have heard I shall advise him to stay; it seems to me it may be worth his while."

Receiving no reply, Lady Grace added: "Perhaps it is only fair to tell you that he was to come back by the four o'clock train, and that he may be here at any moment."

Thereupon Chris jumped up briskly, said good-bye, and walked away as fast as she could. This was just what Lady Grace had felt sure that she would do; and she also felt sure that, if the train kept its time with anything like punctuality, her brother must infallibly encounter Chris on his way up from the station. More than

that she could not very well have done for him, and she had a tolerably strong conviction that he would not stand in need of any further assistance.

But Chris, as she hastened on her way without any thought of meeting Gerald Severne, was not at all sure that she would accept him if at any future time he should ask her to be his wife. She had as yet hardly taken in the meaning of what Lady Grace had told her; she was still, and perhaps rather unjustifiably, sore against Lady Barnstaple; she did not relish the idea of being tolerated on account of the hoarded treasure which had been bequeathed to her. Possibly also she may have been inwardly

conscious that a word or two from Gerald would conquer all her doubts and scruples; for as she drew nearer to the station it suddenly dawned upon her that she was walking along the road by which he must needs make his way homewards; and as soon as she realized that fact she struck off into a by-path between two high walls, which, she flattered herself, would effectually screen her from view.

This strategic movement was not executed with such rapidity but that somebody who had been scrutinizing her figure from afar caught sight of it and promptly started in pursuit. The legs of the pursuer being long, and his anxiety to catch her up very great, it was not many minutes before she heard the sound of approaching footsteps behind her; whereupon she immediately quickened her pace, without looking over her shoulder. But escape, as she very soon perceived, was impossible. Four miles an hour is probably the outside walking speed which can be attained by any wearer of petticoats, and it would be too ridiculous to break into a run. Chris therefore adopted the more dignified course of turning at bay, thereby bringing herself face to face, not with Gerald Severne, but with Val Richardson.

There was a change in Val's appearance-a change of which the de

tails were not at once perceptible to feminine eyes, although the general effect was. He was no longer fashionably clad; he wore a black coat and waistcoat; the pearl had disappeared from his necktie; he looked like a banker's clerk out for a holiday, and somehow or other he seemed to be much more at home and in his proper place thus attired than in the borrowed plumes wherewith he had decked himself out for a season. There was a change too in his manner, which had lost all trace of swagger. He took off his hat and said quite humbly: "I saw you and I couldn't resist following you. I wanted to hear from your own lips that you had forgiven me."

Perhaps this was not quite the most judicious possible mode of addressing a lady who did not want to be addressed at all. Anyhow Chris felt annoyed with him and a little inclined to despise him, and thought that, since he was at Cannes, he would have shown better taste by avoiding her. However, she was reluctant to hit a man who was down; so she answered: "I forgave you long ago, Mr. Richardson; I thought you understood that. And I was very glad to hear that you had found something to do and were not in want any more. Still, after all that has happened, it would be better for us not to meet again. You are only passing through Cannes, I suppose?"

Val smiled. "I have come all the way from Cadiz to see you," he replied. "I heard that you were here, and I came, borrowing the money for the journey and very nearly quarrelling with my employer, who didn't seem to believe that a rich relative of mine was dying at Nice and had telegraphed for me. Chris, if you have really forgiven me, as you say you have, can't you give me a shred of hope? You know how I love you, and you can imagine what sort of an existence I have to look forward to without you. You did like me a little once-I'm sure you did!"

"No," exclaimed Chris, whose heart had been touched for a moment, but who was determined that there should be no misconception upon this point; "I never liked you in the way that you mean! If I had, perhaps your having tried to rob Aunt Rebecca would have made no difference-I don't know. As it was, I was only too glad and thankful to be free. It may sound unkind to say so, but it is the truth. I never should have consented to be engaged to you if my cousin had not insisted upon it. He said you had a hold over me because of our having been seen together in Paris."

"I think," observed Val, "you forget that there was something very like an engagement between us before that time. You didn't quite refuse me, you know; you gave me to understand that there was nobody else whom you liked better."

"Nor was there," answered Chris slowly; "but ".

"But what? Is there somebody else now, then? Good heavens, Chris! is it possible that you can have fallen in love with that red-bearded fellow?"

66

Certainly not! I wish you would not say such unpleasant things. As it happens, Mr. Ellacombe is married already; but in any case

"Then it is the other one," inter

rupted Val. "I thought as much! Trust old Lady Barnstaple to snap up ninety thousand pounds when she gets the chance! Well, I admire her promptitude; but I can't say that I admire your discernment. A man who is willing to make love to you after seeing what Mr. Severne saw in Paris must be a man with no sort of foolish pride about him."

"You are very insolent," said Chris coldly; "but I don't see what you can expect to gain by your insolence. I have not seen Mr. Severne and I don't want to see him; but he has nothing whatever to do with the-the disgust that I feel for you. It is horrid to have to say such a thing, but I am sure that you would not have come

here if you had not heard that I had inherited Aunt Rebecca's money."

This was quite true, and Val regretted that in his chagrin he had let out his knowledge of the fact that Chris was now richer by ninety thousand pounds than when he had seen her last. He had played his cards rather clumsily; but then, to be sure, his cards had not been worth much even to a skilful player. He produced the last one now, and did so with a bravado which would of itself have sufficed to insure its failure.

"Listen to me, Chris," said he. "I'm not going to pretend that I'm over and above scrupulous; you know enough of me by this time to know that, and you know also that I love you. I won't see you married to any other man living if I can help it, and you must see that I can easily enough prevent Severne from marrying you. Engage yourself to him, and I give you my word that I'll go straight to Lady Barnstaple and tell her that you ran off to Paris to meet me. You won't be able to disprove it, and I can as good as prove it. People can't be married at a day's notice, you must remember; so I leave you to judge whether Lady Barnstaple will have courage enough to welcome a daughter-in-law about whom her friends will have every excuse for saying some queer things."

If the disgraceful unmanliness of this threat did not deprive it of all its terrors for Chris, it was at all events sufficient to render any further intercourse between her and Val Richardson impossible. She turned away without a word and walked quickly back towards the high road, whither she thought that he would be less likely to follow her than if she were to proceed on her way towards the less frequented quarter for which she had been bound.

However, he did follow her. He had burnt his ships, and he knew very well that if he could not get her to listen to him now, no second opportunity of doing so would be given him.

He changed his tone when he caught her up; he intreated her to pardon his brutality, alleging that he had been half maddened by the thought of her belonging to another man; he swore that if she would only trust him he would prove himself worthy of her love. But to none of his words did Chris vouchsafe the slightest notice; and so they walked on, he pleading and protesting and she looking straight before her, until they reached the high-road, when he suddenly seized her hand, thus forcing her to halt.

It was in this attitude that Gerald Severne, who was sauntering slowly up from the station, with his hands behind his back and his head bent, discovered the pair. He started and stood still for one moment; then quickened his pace and passed on, without raising his hat. There are circumstances in which people prefer not to be recognised, and doubtless he remembered that he had once before been too ready to intrude upon Miss Compton and her present companion.

But Chris, who quite understood what his thoughts were, could not endure to be again so misjudged. Moreover, she was furiously angry with Val, and was beginning to be just a little bit frightened. Therefore she pocketed her pride, and called out, "Mr. Severne!" And as Gerald paused irresolutely, seeming doubtful whether to believe his ears or not, she repeated her summons in a louder key.

Upon that he turned, and advanced towards her, saying, with a rather forced smile, "Oh-how do you do, Miss Compton?" as though there had been nothing particularly strange in her standing in the middle of the road with an agitated young man clinging

to her hand.

"How do you do?" returned Chris. "Will you make Mr. Richardson go away, please? I want to get rid of him, and I can't."

Gerald endeavoured not to look surprised. He stepped up to Val's side,

and said quietly, "You hear that Miss Compton wishes to get rid of you. I daresay you will prefer to go without making a disturbance.”

Of the two men Gerald was somewhat the more powerfully built; but there was no such disparity of strength between them as to render the result of a tussle certain; and for one moment Val, though he relinquished the lady's hand, looked as though he might be inclined to show fight before submitting to her behests. However, he thought better of a line of action which would have put him altogether in the wrong, and replied: "Certainly I am quite willing to go away, and I should have done so if Miss Compton had simply stated her wishes, without calling in assistance. Perhaps I may be excused for not having at once understood Miss Compton's wishes, which seem to have undergone a curious change since she and I last had the honour of meeting you. If I am not mistaken, it was you whom she wished to get rid of then; and in her anxiety to dismiss you, I remember that she took what I thought the somewhat imprudent step of telling you that she had fled to Paris to join me."

"I never said that, and you know that I did not!" cried Chris. "I said I had run away from my aunt's house."

"Mr. Severne must draw his own conclusions," observed Val, with a smile.

"I have no wish to pry into anything that doesn't concern me," Gerald declared. "All I know is that Miss Compton has asked me to make you go away. For the second time, will you be good enough to go?"

Val looked down at the ground, drew some semicircles in the dust with his stick, and pondered. When he opened his lips, it was to make perhaps the most foolish speech that he had ever given utterance to in a life which had been full of folly.

"Mr. Severne," said he, "I don't know what account Miss Compton may