She did not answer, nor did he seem to expect an answer. But she was pleased he did not speak slightingly of Harry. Had he done so, she felt that she would have defended him; and yet, in her deepest consciousness she knew this defense would have been forced and uncertain. The circumstances were too painful to be called from the abyss of past calamity. It was better everything should be forgotten. And with the unerring instinct of a lover, Medway quickly put a stop to her painful reverie by words that seldom miss a woman's appreciation. He told her how much he had longed to be with her; how tardily the weeks had flown; how happy it made him to see her face again. He called her beautiful, bewitching, the loveliest creature the sun shone on, and he said these things with that air of devoted respect which was doubly sweet to the girl, after the social neglect of the past weeks. Finally he asked her if she was cold, and she answered: "How can I be cold? These exquisite furs are cold-proof. Where did you get them? I have never seen any like them before." "I got them in St. Petersburg. I was there two years ago on a political embassy, and while I was waiting until you partly recovered yourself I had my long coat cut up and made for you. I am delighted I did it. You never looked so lovely in anything I have seen you wear. Do you like them, Maria, sweet Maria?" She looked at him with a smile so ravishing that he had there and then no words to answer it. He spoke to the driver instead, and the horses bounded forward, and so rapid was the pace that the city was soon reached, and then her home. Neil was at the gate to meet them, and Medway lifted Maria out of the sleigh and gave her into his care. "I will not keep the horses standing now;" he said, "but shall I call to-morrow, Maria, at the same time?" And she said, "Yes," and "I have had a happy drive." So he bowed and went away in a dash of trampling horses and jingling bells, and Maria watched him a moment or two, being greatly impressed by his languid, yet masterful, air and manner, the result of wealth long inherited and of social station beyond question. With a sigh--and she knew not why she sighed--Maria went into the house. She was now quite forgiven; she could feel that she was once more loved without reservation, and also that she had become a person of importance. It was a happy change, and she did not inquire about it, or dampen the pleasure by asking for reasons. She took off her beautiful furs, showed them to her grandmother and grandfather, and told at what personal sacrifice Lord Medway had given them to her. And then, drawing close to the hearth, she described the people they had met, and the snubs and recognitions given and received. It was all interesting to Madame, and even to the Elder; the latter, indeed, was in extraordinary high spirits, and added quite as much salt and vinegar to the dish of gossip as either of the women.