"Maurice!" says she faintly.

He turns.

"Well, will you marry me to-morrow?" asks he mockingly.

"No. But----"

"There is no time for 'buts,'" says he.

He opens the door and closes it sharply behind him.

Mrs. Bethune flings herself back into a chair, and presses her
handkerchief to her face.

"Oh, it is nothing, nothing," says she presently. She gets up, and,
standing before a glass, arranges her hair and presses her eyebrows
into shape. "He gets impatient, that is all. He will never be able
to live without me. As for that absurd child, Maurice would not look
at _her_. No, I am sure of him, quite, quite sure; to-morrow he will
come back to me, repentant."



CHAPTER IX.

HOW MAURICE PLACES HIS LIFE IN THE HANDS OF THE HOYDEN, AND HOW SHE
TELLS HIM MANY THINGS, AND DESIRES MANY THINGS OF HIM.