“I do tell her so,” she says, in a low tone, but yet firmly.  “I never received a letter from you, and you never kissed my hand.”

“Dora!” cries Florence.  “What are you saying!  Have you forgotten all that is past?”

“Spare me!” entreats Dora hoarsely.  “In an hour, if you will come to my room, I will explain all, and you can then spurn me, and put me outside the pale of your friendship if you will, and as I well deserve.  But, for the present, accept my assurance that no love passages ever occurred between me and Sir Adrian, and that I am fully persuaded his heart has been given to you alone ever since your first meeting.”

“Florence, you believe her?” questions Sir Adrian beseechingly.  “It is all true what she has said.  I love you devotedly.  If you will not marry me, no other woman shall ever be my wife.  My beloved, take pity on me!”

“Trust in him, give yourself freely to him without fear,” urges Dora, with a sob.  “He is altogether worthy of you.”  So saying, she escapes from the room, and goes up the stairs to her own apartment weeping bitterly.

“Is there any hope for me?” asks Sir Adrian of Florence when they are again alone.  “Darling, answer me, do, you—­can you love me?”

“I have loved you always—­always,” replies Florence in a broken voice.  “But I thought—­I feared—­oh, how much I have suffered!”

“Never mind that now,” rejoins Sir Adrian very tenderly.  He has placed his arm round her, and her head is resting in happy contentment upon his breast.  “For the future, my dearest, you shall know neither fear nor suffering if I can prevent it.”

* * * * *

They are still murmuring tender words of love to each other, though a good half hour has gone by, when a noise as of coming footsteps in the conservatory attracts their attention, and presently Captain Ringwood, with his arm round Ethel Villiers’s waist, comes slowly into view.

Totally unaware that any one is in the room besides themselves, they advance, until, happening to lift their eyes, they suddenly become aware that their host and Miss Delmaine are regarding them with mingled glances of surprise and amusement.  Instantly they start asunder.

“It is—­that is—­you see—­Ethel, you explain,” stammers Captain Ringwood confusedly.

At this both Sir Adrian and Florence burst out laughing so merrily and so heartily that all constraint comes to an end, and finally Ethel and Ringwood, joining in the merriment that has been raised at their expense, volunteer a full explanation.

“I think,” says Ethel, after awhile, looking keenly at Florence and her host, “you two look just as guilty as we do.  Don’t they, George?”

“They seem very nearly as happy, at all events,” agrees Ringwood, who, now that he has confessed to his having just been accepted by Ethel Villiers “for better for worse,” is again in his usual gay spirits.