“Maurice is never unkind to me,” says she, “and even if he were, I should not allow you or anyone to question me in the matter.  What are you thinking of?”

“Of you,” slowly.

“You waste your time,” says Tita.

“It is not wasted.  It is spent on you,” says Hescott, with compressed but strong passion.  “And now a last word, Tita.  If ever you want to—­to——­” He hesitates.  “To leave him,” he had almost said, but her proud eyes and her pale lips made him hesitate—­such pride!  It raises his love for her to fever-heat.  “If ever you should want anyone to help you, I——­”

She interrupts him.  She makes a haughty little gesture with hand.  It would be impossible to describe the wild grace and beauty of it—­or the dignity.

“If ever I should, I shall have Maurice!” says she coldly.

Hescott looks at her.  Of course he has been told that old story about Mrs. Bethune, and has seen for himself many things.

“You are an angel!” says he at last, very sadly; yet he would not have wished her less than that.

“Don’t be absurd!” says Tita most ungratefully.

She marches past him with her angry little head still upheld, but presently a word from him brings her to a standstill.

“Don’t be angry with me, Tita,” he is saying in a low tone.  “I’m going away to-morrow.”

“Ah, so you are!” says Tita.  Her sweet nature comes back to her.  Dear old Tom!  And she has been saying such horrid things to him.  “Never mind me, Tom!” says she, holding out her hand to him.  “I’m dreadfully cross sometimes, but I don’t ever mean it, really.  And,” smiling gently at him, “you know that I love you!”

Hescott takes her hand.  His heart seems very full—­too full for words.  Those words, “I love you!” He stoops and presses a kiss upon the little warm fingers now resting within his own.  And without another word he leaves her.

He is hardly gone, when Rylton lays his hand upon her arm.

“Well,” says he, his voice vibrating with anger.  He had followed her, as has been said, with no idea of watching her, but with a curious longing to get near to her again. Why, he could hardly have explained even to himself.  The only thing he did know in that walk homeward was that he was most horribly, most unreasonably unhappy!

He had followed her and he had found her crying, or at least with the signs of tears upon her eyes, and had seen her cousin kissing her hand.  A slight madness came over him then.  Crying for her cousin, no doubt, because he must leave her to-morrow!

“Well!” His tone is abrupt, almost brutal.  Yet even in this hour where all things point to her discomfiture he cannot get the victory over her.

“Well?” demands she in return, shaking her arm loose from his hold.

“You have been crying for him, no doubt—­for your——­” He pauses.

“My what?” asks Tita.  She is looking at him with fearless, wondering eyes.