"I was afraid," Mrs. Brenton had said once to the girl--"I was afraid that he might have changed in this, but I ought to have known him better!" Another time she said, "Did I tell you he had refused to take back a single thing he had given her? She told me all this in the first letter she wrote from Italy, and yet even now," Mrs. Brenton added, in a low tone, "I don't believe she grasps the full meaning of his generosity. After telling me all this, she added that, of course, if it had been any other man than Cuthbert she could not have kept the jewels; but that, as Cuthbert was his brother, he had a right to share in so much wealth." "That was not her own suggestion," Caroline had said quickly. Her thoughts hovered pityingly about Camilla this night, and about the memory of the woman who was just dead. That year in his mother's house had taught her to know Cuthbert Baynhurst through and through. His desertion now of his duty, his cowardice and exacting selfishness were made doubly contemptible, when she remembered his mother's clinging love, her heart-whole devotion, her pride in him. "He is not worthy to be walked on by Rupert," Caroline determined hotly. And at that very moment some one spoke her name, and, starting violently, she turned to find Rupert himself standing just behind her chair. "Do forgive me," he said quickly, realizing how much he had startled her. "Mrs. Brenton sent me to find you. She told me you are always out here at this time." "I fancied I was quite alone," said Caroline nervously; then she added, "Have you been here long? Did you motor down?" He said "Yes." Their hands had clasped and unclasped. "I felt I must come down and see you all before you fly away. In particular, I want to speak to you." "Yes," said Caroline. "Are you tired?" Haverford asked rather abruptly. "Shall we walk?" She got up at once. "It is so delightful out here at this time. I will take you to Betty's garden. There is a rose waiting for you, Mr. Haverford. It was going to be sent by post in a box to-morrow. I don't know that I dare pick it, but you may look at it." As they passed under the interlacing branches of the trees, he said-- "I thought you would like to know that my mother spoke of you several times. She has bequeathed to you some odds and ends of jewellery which I fancy must have belonged to your mother. I cannot say that she spoke kindly," he said, with half a sigh; "but at least she remembered." "It grieved me," said Caroline, in a low voice, "to know that she suffered so much." He sighed. "At times it was terrible. What stuff some of you women are made of! She had her faults, my poor mother, but she had marvellous qualities. In some ways you remind me of her, only you are not in the least masculine." When they reached Betty's garden he knelt down and put his lips to the rose. "Tell her I have been here, that I have left a kiss for her. I won't pick it. Dear little creature, let her send it on, if she wants to."