She was too irresistibly beautiful, at that moment, to be reproved.  He gently raised her from the floor—­and owned the truth.

“Yes,” he said; “I heard it after you left me on the Belvidere—­just as I heard it on another moonlight night, when Major Hynd was here with me.  Our return to this house is perhaps the cause.  I don’t complain; I have had a long release.”

She threw her arms round his neck.  “We will leave Vange to-morrow,” she said.

It was firmly spoken.  But her heart sank as the words passed her lips.  Vange Abbey had been the scene of the most unalloyed happiness in her life.  What destiny was waiting for her when she returned to London?

CHAPTER II.

EVENTS AT TEN ACRES.

THERE was no obstacle to the speedy departure of Romayne and his wife from Vange Abbey.  The villa at Highgate—­called Ten Acres Lodge, in allusion to the measurement of the grounds surrounding the house—­had been kept in perfect order by the servants of the late Lady Berrick, now in the employment of her nephew.

On the morning after their arrival at the villa, Stella sent a note to her mother.  The same afternoon, Mrs. Eyrecourt arrived at Ten Acres—­on her way to a garden-party.  Finding the house, to her great relief, a modern building, supplied with all the newest comforts and luxuries, she at once began to plan a grand party, in celebration of the return of the bride and bridegroom.

“I don’t wish to praise myself,” Mrs. Eyrecourt said; “but if ever there was a forgiving woman, I am that person.  We will say no more, Stella, about your truly contemptible wedding—­five people altogether, including ourselves and the Lorings.  A grand ball will set you right with society, and that is the one thing needful.  Tea and coffee, my dear Romayne, in your study; Coote’s quadrille band; the supper from Gunter’s, the grounds illuminated with colored lamps; Tyrolese singers among the trees, relieved by military music—­and, if there are any African or other savages now in London, there is room enough in these charming grounds for encampments, dances, squaws, scalps, and all the rest of it, to end in a blaze of fireworks.”

A sudden fit of coughing seized her, and stopped the further enumeration of attractions at the contemplated ball.  Stella had observed that her mother looked unusually worn and haggard, through the disguises of paint and powder.  This was not an uncommon result of Mrs. Eyrecourt’s devotion to the demands of society; but the cough was something new, as a symptom of exhaustion.

“I am afraid, mamma, you have been overexerting yourself,” said Stella.  “You go to too many parties.”