"Ah, well," she resumed in a moment, with a little laugh, "I have been sadly vexed with you, Xenie. Who could help it? I had been so proud of you, and hoped such great things for you, I could hardly bear it when I learned to what length your passion had carried you." She paused in sheer pity as she saw the blush of shame flashing suddenly into those white cheeks. "Well, never mind," she continued, with a significant smile. "All is not lost yet. We will not recall the past. But I wish to talk to your mother. Won't you gather a bunch of your beautiful roses for me, dear, while we have our little chat?" Glad of an excuse for leaving the room, Xenie turned away, followed by a smile of blended triumph and cunning from her maneuvering aunt. She ran down the marble steps at one side of the house that led into the beautiful rose-garden that lay glowing and blushing under the balmy sky of June. Running down the graveled path, she stopped short very suddenly, and a low cry escaped her lips: "Howard Templeton!" CHAPTER XXVII. A gentleman, standing alone beside a marble fountain, turns with a start and looks at her. His face is handsome, eager, agitated. "Mrs. St. John," he says; then a strange constraint seems to fall upon both. They remain standing still and regarding each other in painful silence. It is the first time they have met since the day of her terrible humiliation, more than two months ago. In the passionate war they waged he had been the victor. One would think that he would meet her now with words of exultation. Yet he is silent, and a dark-red flush creeps slowly up his temples, while his handsome blue eyes regard her with a strange intentness. To the day of his death he remembers her as she looks now. Not the expression of a feature, not a fold of her robe escapes his memory. She looks like some beautiful, pale statue. "Gown'd in pure white that fitted to the shape-- A single stream of all her soft, dark curls Pour'd on one side." The sunshine beams upon her lovingly. A creeping rose-tree throws out its briery arms as though it would fain draw her into its thorny embrace. The light breeze scatters the scented rose-petals in a shower of sweetness under her feet. A happy bird warbles its lay of love above her drooping head. Suddenly she turns to go, thrilled with a bitter pang of remembrance. The movement breaks the spell that binds him. He springs after her. "Do not go," he exclaims, in a voice of unconscious pleading. "Why should I stay?" she asks, turning her proud, dark eyes upon him. "Why have you intruded your unwelcome presence upon me?" The flush on his fair, handsome face deepens. "Xenie, pardon the _ruse_ by which I have gained admittance to your presence," he exclaims. "I wished to see you and I went to Mrs. Egerton, and stating my reasons, begged her to arrange this meeting." "Did you not know that the very sight of you is hateful in my eyes?" she demands, spiritedly.