"You shall have it next Wednesday when you come to the Grosvenor; we'll have our final talk before the meeting at the same time. But you may rely on it, and you can set the thing going at once, have the transfers filled inthat is if you want 'em.

"Good," Wendern held out his hand cordially.

It was just ten minutes to six- and Katherine had returned. The way was clear. At the lonely little hotel at Farnham, in the quiet night, as he had stood looking over the ponds, he had told

himself that between him and her there stood a crowd of people who had been led into loss, some of them into ruin, through his carelessness and folly. Now they had stepped aside and he could go to her. Lant would pay off the little shareholders; and come what would, whichever way the lawsuit went, those who had come into the Syndicate on the strength of the London manager's name would be paid off on Wednesday night; they would have no part, no stake, in the meeting on Thursday. The way was clear.

In the drawing-room at Mrs Fiffer's the usual tea business was going on. Lord Derbyshire appeared soon after Katherine arrived, but she took no notice of him; she sat in a corner of the canvas-sheltered balcony and seemed deaf to everything in the room beside her. Her face was turned towards the end of Exhibition Road; she could see the hurrying traffic along the main road, the cabs going in and out Alexandra Gate and the trees beyond. Round the corner, on the right, was Wendern's house, she was conscious of

it every moment. Presently Derbyshire went to the balcony; it seemed to worry her. "Go away," she said, "I want to be left alone." It was half a snub, half an entreaty. "I can't talk-please go."

He hesitated a moment, "All right," he said, "I understand. I feel a bit awkward myself, as

if something was the matter, you know."

At

Something was evidently the matter with Mrs Fiffer; a little group of visitors had dropped in, they irritated her, she wanted to get rid of them in order to talk to Katherine and perhaps to Derbyshire. last she remembered a picture in her boudoir,-the boudoir that she looked upon as merely a foolish little sitting-room, a worry to use, and containing a great many unnecessary things which the housemaid spent a long time in dusting.

"I think you said you had to go pretty soon, Lady CarterLeigh ?" she said with a smile, to cover her artfulness. "Now, I'd like, if you don't mind, to ask your opinion of one or two little things I bought at Christie's last week,-daresay you'd all like to come?" she looked at the others. "There's a picture, and an old crystal jug

with a metal stand to it-don't know why it has it, I'm sure. Perhaps you'd be able to tell me if it's a curiosity,-I really can't guess." In a moment she had swept her callers away, and she had not the least intention of letting them re-enter the drawing-room that after

noon.

When they were alone Derbyshire went towards Katherine again. "I say, those Johnnies have all gone," he said; "won't you talk to me now?"

She got up and looked at him as if bewildered, and trying to remember who he was and why he was there, and said, "I want you to ring the bell."

"Oh, all right-funny thing to do thought we were going to have a little time together perhaps?"

She took no notice of him, but, going back into the drawing-room, spoke to the servant. "Mr Wendern will be here immediately," she said; "show him into the library, and tell me when he

"Oh, I say," put in Derbyshire, "why shouldn't he be shown up?"

"I want to see him alone; I am going down in a minute to wait for him."

'Well, I say, but you know things are different now. Has there been anything,-I mean, why should you want to see Wendern alone?"

She waited a minute, and when she answered her voice was sweet, but very firm. "We may as well settle things at once, Lord Derbyshire

"But you're not going to call me Lord Derbyshire any longer, are you?"

She shook her head impatiently as if it were too trivial a question to consider— "America is a free country," she went on," and I come from it. Over there women have their friends-men friends as well as women friends-and I must have mine if I am to live over here; you must understand that and not worry me. I'm going down to see George Wendern. You had better stay here and have a talk with mother-she is longing for it; she was taken by surprise, and before she could say anything those people came. "All right."

"Then you must go away; you are dining here to-night, and we shall meet." A clock on the mantelpiece struck with a silvery sound. "It is time," she said. "I told Mr Wendern to come at six, and he is always punctual. Ask mother to come down to the library to me at half-past; say I want her to

smile-a sorry frightened one -came to her lips, as with head erect she entered the library. Wendern was standing in the middle of the room. He went forward as if to take her in his arms. "Katherine -Katherine, my dear—”

She held out her hands to keep him off; the dazed look that had been on her face on the balcony returned, but she recovered quickly. "I thought we might talk here by our selves," she said.

He looked at her doubtfully before he answered. "It's what I've been wishing for-waiting for," but for the life of him he couldn't make another movement till she had spoken again. They stood looking at each other for a full minute. He knew that she was gathering courage to speak, and waited till it came.

"I've been thinking of the other night at Brighton." Each word seemed to be ground out of her, though her manner was composed. She raised her eyes and met his without flinching.

"I have thought of it every hour since," he answered slowly. "I shall remember your face looking down at the sea and up at the stars, that came out twinkling as if asking whether they were too soon, as long as I live."

"I said some things I oughtn't to have said. I wish I hadn't -that we hadn't taken that walk."

"Why? Wern't they true?" "If they were it makes no difference. I wanted you to come to-day to tell youher head drooped, a break was

"You mustn't say it. That's why I sent for you, I wouldn't let any one else tell you—I'm engaged to Lord Derbyshire." She staggered to a seat and sat down, waiting for him to speak.

"When did it happen?" he asked calmly.

"Yesterday afternoon - he telegraphed early that he was coming, that was why I stayed on."

"I saw him yesterday. I expect he expect he was hurrying off then. Had you made up your mind when I came the other day?"

She shook her head. "After you'd gone I thought it all out -I told you I had to do that." "Yes. But I don't understand yet?"

"You see you belong to the New World too, and I should have expected that you should

care, as I do, for the things they have here-the things that haven't had time to grow up over there-we come for them we want them and worship them;" the last words were said in a low tone, as if they were a plea for mercy.

He looked at her again, his voice was cynical as he answered. "Let's face it squarely. I love you, and you know it. The other night, when we stood together on that white road looking down at the sea- ""

"The sound of it has been in my ears ever since," she said forlornly.

"There's nothing so wise in creation it knows all the eternal truths and was whispering them to us-that's why I felt that you loved me; perhaps I was a conceited ass, but I could have sworn it," he waited, but she she made no answer. "And as I motored back, away from you, I made plans of all we would do when we were married, and of how the angels, if there are any, would drop out of the skies with envy and turn into mortal men. All the time you were caring for Derbyshire, or planning to take him anyway -for the things he has, the things of the Old World that I can't give you?"

She raised her head defiantly. "American girls come over and marry for them. I used to think it was just vanity, but it isn't. I've thought it all out. Father went on piling piling up money, but he could only spend it on houses and carriages, and diamonds newly come from Kimberley--'

"Didn't they satisfy him?"

"Why, yes, well enoughbut he wanted more he thought I should get it for him. You see they didn't give him a name written in Domesday Book, nor family castles, nor armour in which which his ancestors had gone to battle -we haven't got anything of that sort. They have here; but their best things are going to ruin, they'll crumble away if something isn't done, and the country will forget everything that's made it what it is, and helped to fill Westminster Abbey"

"But what, in Heaven's name, has all this to do with you?

"That's where I come indon't you think it'll be splendid to pull together an old family like Lord Derbyshire's?" Her voice was proud but her eyes looked almost scared.

"Good Lord!" he said, as if in a dream.

"He hasn't a penny to spend because of the mortgages on his property," she went on. "He told mother that his fences were dropping to bits, and he can't do any of the things he ought for his tenants. He has a castle that'll fall if money isn't spent on it. It has dungeons, and a moat, and secret doors, and all the things one reads of in history and romance; but that we'll never have in America as long as we live. If something doesn't happen his name will be dragged down with his castle, he'll have to go into trade-or something."

"Well? Why he?"

shouldn't

"It must be pretty bad to do that when you've ancestors who went to the Crusades. No one who has family pictures and armour at first-hand ought to be allowed to do it. My money will set the whole thing right-it'll set a little bit of this beautiful, wonderful country right-the peasants will come back to live on the land, and we'll be there to do things for them, to make them content as they used to be centuries ago- -" she stopped as if her courage had given out, and waited for him to speak.

Taken aback by the whole argument, he stood staring at her. "It all seems highly poetical, no doubt," he said at last. "And Derbyshire himself, how does he come into the picture?"

"When he's rich again and among the right people he'll be the real thing once

"In fact, you are going to marry him in order to do up his property and make him solvent; and you imagine that he'll turn into a noble of the olden time again?"

"Perhaps.' There seemed to be an entreaty in her heart when she spoke again, not to make a sorry joke of what was deadly earnest to her. "But it isn't for him, it is for what he represents. If you and I married, no one would be the better for it but our two selves; besides, what good then would the money be that father spent all those years in piling up? I want to do my very best by it -by all the years of his work that it represents-to weave it in with the history and

poetry over here, the things that are beautiful and picturesque, woven in with England itself, the real England that was, before it was spoilt by shoddy rich people who have no sense of what they ought to do with money: I have a sense-I'll spend it properly." Her voice was passionate; it was impossible to help feeling how keenly she had thought it out.

"You are not in love with

him?"

She shook her head. "And Derbyshire-is he in love with you?"

"He likes me well enoughand he's doing the right thing, as I am. Surely you know how it is with all us Americans who come over and marry aristocrats or aristocrats who go over there and marry us; we know well enough what we're doing, and so do theythey don't make any mistake about it, but we each give the other a good deal. I feel I'm putting father's money to the right use. Why, his name will have to be in Debrett and a dozen other places where nothing else I could do in the world would put it. I should be wicked just to think of myself."

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