“Yes.”

“You promise that?”

“I promise that, as far as it lies in my power, I will always befriend you.”

“Ah, that is not enough,” says she, laughing and sobbing in the same breath.  “I am losing you for ever.  Give me something to dwell upon, to hope for.  Swear you will make me your guest sometimes.”

“I swear it,” says he huskily.

He removes her arms from his neck, and holds her from him.  His face is gray.

“It is for the sake of our old friendship that I plead,” says she.

The tears are running down her cheeks.

“Our friendship,” repeats he, with a groan.

He makes a movement as if to fling her from him, then suddenly catches her to his heart, and presses his lips passionately to hers.

* * * * *

“Maurice!  Maurice!” calls somebody.

Marian sinks upon a couch near her, and buries her face in her hands.  Sir Maurice goes into the hall to meet his bride.

The partings are very brief.  Tita, who is in the gayest spirits, says good-bye to everybody with a light heart.  Has not her freedom been accomplished?  She receives Lady Rylton’s effusive embrace calmly.  There are some, indeed, who say that the little bride did not return her kiss.  Just at the very last, with her foot almost on the carriage step, Tita looks back, and seeing Margaret at a little distance, runs to her, and flings herself into her embrace.

“You are mine now, my own cousin!” whispers she joyfully.

“God bless you, Tita,” says Margaret in a whisper, too, but very earnestly, “and preserve to you your happy heart!”

“Oh, I shall always be happy,” says Tita; “and I shall hurry back to see you," giving her another hug.

Then somebody puts her into the carriage, and, still smiling and waving her hands, she is driven away.

“Really, Margaret, you should be flattered,” says Lady Rylton, with a sneer.  “She seems to think more of you than of her husband.”

“I hope her husband will think of her,” returns Margaret coldly.  “As I told you before, I consider this marriage ill done.”

CHAPTER XII.

HOW TITA COMES BACK FROM HER HONEYMOON, AND HOW HER HUSBAND’S MOTHER TELLS HER OF CERTAIN THINGS THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN LEFT UNTOLD.

“And the weather—­the weather was the most marvellous thing!” says Tita, with enthusiasm.  “Perpetual sunshine!  Here, in September, it often pelts rain all day long!”

_ “Pelts!_ My dear Tita, what a word!” says Lady Rylton.

She sinks back in her chair as if overcome, and presses her perfumed handkerchief to her face.

“What’s the matter with it?” asks Tita, a little smartly, perhaps.  “It’s a right-down good word, in my opinion.  I’ve heard lots of people use it.”

“No doubt you have,” says her mother-in-law.