"Why not? Shall I tell you? You were thinking that I repent of having married Lord Henry, now that I know I was deceived. Tell me!" she cried, lifting up Ruth's burning face, and gazing at her searchingly: "you were thinking that, were you not?" "Yes," faltered Ruth, "I was." "Then you were wrong, Ruthy," said Marie gravely. "Perhaps I did feel something like compunction when I found this out, but that is all past now, and I am married to one of the best and kindest of men." "And you are happy, Marie?" There was a pause, for it cost Marie a bitter struggle to utter that one word with a smile, but she spoke it bravely at last, and there was a sense of relief after it was said: "Quite," Then, after another pause: "Lord Henry is all that is tender and good to me; and now, Ruthy, about yourself?" "Oh, I am only too glad to come and see you sometimes!" "Yes; but about this little heart. Ruthy, will you confide in me?" Marie drew the trembling girl closer to her side, and tried to gaze in her face, but it was averted. "Yes," she whispered; "of course I will." "Then tell me this--frankly: you love Marcus Glen?" The pained aspect came back into Marie's face, and her brow was rugged, as she waited for Ruth's answer. "I don't know," said Ruth at last. "You don't know? Is this your confidence?" "Oh, don't speak angrily to me!" cried Ruth passionately. "I will keep nothing from you, Marie. Indeed, indeed I do not know, only that I have prayed, so hard, so very hard, that I might not love him." "Prayed that you might not love him?" said Marie, smiling. "Yes; for I felt that it would be so treacherous, and that it would cause pain to all--to you--to me. Oh, why do you ask me this?" "Hush! you are growing agitated, and I want to talk to you quietly, and for your good. Suppose it had ceased to be treacherous to think of Captain Glen--suppose he could be brought to love you, and were to ask you to be his wife: what would you say then?" A servant entered and announced Mr Paul Montaigne; and, blandly calm and smiling, that gentleman entered the room. It was a surprise for both, and Ruth's heart began to beat strangely fast as, in his customary paternal way, Montaigne greeted each in turn. She recalled that evening when their visitor had talked with her in the drawing-room, but her dread had increased each time they met, and it was all she could do to keep from shrinking from him and showing her aversion. But little was said more than that Montaigne told them he was in town on business, and that he had thought he would call, before Lord Henry joined them, greeting Montaigne very warmly, and ending, to Ruth's horror, by asking him to dine with them next day, and to spend an hour with them whenever he could spare the time.