“It is that very knowledge that makes me speak,” Miss Nugent replied, steadily. “It is that very knowledge that makes me speak, Lady Elaine. You are wasting your life for a man who never cared for you. He confessed to me that it was merely the infatuation of a moment. I dared not tell you so before. These creatures of poetic fancy are never to be trusted wholly. Sir Harold has ever been eccentric and quixotic; he has ever been afflicted with some new craze at which hard-hearted, sober-minded men have smiled. I believe that for a little while he worshiped you as the perfect embodiment of some cherished ideal; but the instant he realized that you were only human, his so-called love changed to actual dislike.” Lady Elaine had become deadly pale. “And do you expect me to listen to you, Margaret Nugent--to believe you?” she asked. “Before Heaven, I swear that I am telling you simple truth, Lady Elaine! My cousin never really loved you as men are supposed to love women, and soon regretted the tangle he had woven about himself. To escape it, he stooped to trickery and dishonor. I alone am in his confidence. I alone know where he is wandering again. I have had a letter from him this very day. Even if you hate me for it, it is my duty to tell you the truth.” “Heaven help me!” moaned Elaine. “I have given him my love--the love of my life--and I can never change! I worship the king of my dreams, not the wretched creature of clay that he has proved himself to be! And, now that I know the worst, I will school myself to wear a smile, though my heart is broken!” It never occurred to her to doubt Miss Nugent’s words. Margaret had always been her friend, and there was no earthly reason why she should deceive her. Besides, everything pointed to the truth of the statement, and the mystery about Sir Harold was partly cleared away. At Lady Gaynor’s ball she appeared to be one of the gayest of the gay, and my lord of Seabright was delighted. “She has sense and pride, after all,” he thought. “Being a Seabright, it could not well be otherwise.” She danced with several eligible men, but Viscount Rivington was the most favored of all, and his eyes burnt with triumph. “The earl has told me to go in for rapid conquest,” he thought. “Hearts are easily caught in the rebound.” He led Lady Elaine from the heated ballroom, and, seated in a conservatory, they listened to the singing of one of the lady guests: “No, not more welcome the fairy numbers Of music fall on the sleeper’s ear When, half awake from fearful slumbers, He thinks the full choir of heaven is near-- Then came that voice, when, all forsaken, This heart long had sleeping lain, Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken To such benign, blessed sounds again!