"And who is this young woman?"--suddenly, and with not unjust suspicion. Miss Carruthers flushed. My sister had a way of being extraordinarily insolent upon occasion. But evidently Miss Carruthers came of equally distinguished blood. She lifted her head proudly, and her eyes flashed. "As I have no desire to enter into your family affairs," she said haughtily to me, "I beg of you to excuse me." She made as though to leave. "Wait!" I implored, striving to detain her. Somehow I felt that if she went I should never see her again. "Let me go, Mr. Chadwick; I have only the kindest regards for you." "But the money?" "The money?" echoed my sister. "Nan," said I indignantly, "but for this young lady, who, I dare say, comes of as good a family as ours-- Well, if it hadn't been for her you might have carried me home in a pine box." "Robert!"--aghast. "Miss Carruthers is a lady," I declared vehemently. "Carruthers? You are English?" asked my sister, her frown smoothing. "You will certainly pardon me if I have been rude; but this brother of mine--" "Is a very good gentleman," Miss Carruthers interrupted. "My name is now known to you; yours--" "Is Lady Rexford,"--with a tilt of the chin. Miss Carruthers bent forward. "Of Suffolk?" "Yes-- Merciful heavens! you are of the Carruthers who are my neighbors when I am at home! I know the judge, your father, well." "My father!" The burden of her trouble came back to her, the reaction from the intense excitement of the preceding hour. She reached out her arms blindly, and would have fallen had not my sister caught her. "You wretch!" she cried, "what have you been doing to this girl?" "Don't be a fool, Nan! I haven't been doing anything. But don't let's have a scene here. Where's your room?" We were still in the parlor of the hotel, and many curious glances were directed at us. The attendant had set down his heavy and precious burden, and was waiting patiently for further directions from me. "Don't scold him," said Miss Carruthers; "for he has been very good to me." She stretched out a small white hand, and I clasped it. "Mr. Chadwick, make me a solemn promise." "What is it?"--wondering. "Promise me never to play games of chance again. Think of what might have happened if God hadn't been so good to us after our having been so bad." I promised. Then we went to my sister's room, and the whole story came out. The colonel abruptly concluded his narrative. "Here, here!" we cried; "this will never do. What was the end?" "What happened to young Carruthers?" I demanded, with the novelist's love for details. "That wasn't his name," replied the colonel, smiling. "And what became of the girl?" asked Fletcher. "You can't choke us off that way, Bob. What became of the girl?" "Seventy thousand dollars; I believe you're codding us a whole lot," said Collingwood. "You're a fakir if you don't tell us what became of the girl," Fletcher again declared persistently.