“Why should you be out of place amongst these people?” cried Julia, drawing up her head with a proud gesture, “unless,” she murmured, in a thoughtful undertone--“unless because these people are so much beneath you.” Miss Desmond had entirely recovered herself by this time. All at once, after sitting a long time at the table, playing her cards with infinite tact and patience,--all at once she found herself losing the game, and saw that only the boldest play could help her. But Julia was equal to the situation. The second of December had come upon her very suddenly; but she did not despair of triumphing by a _coup d’état_. “Tell me the truth, Mr. Tredethlyn,” she said, looking Francis full in the face, with her eyes and teeth gleaming in the twilight; “why are you going to leave this house? Why do you talk of hurrying away from England?” “Because--because--I have done you a wrong in absorbing so much of your society, Miss Desmond, and the people here have begun to mix your name with mine. I cannot bear that you, who are so superior to me, should be humiliated by such an association; especially when there is no foundation for their talk,” Francis Tredethlyn added, in considerable embarrassment. “Oh, I understand it all now,” answered Julia, with an unutterable bitterness in her tone; “you have been warned against me, Mr. Tredethlyn. I am only a fortune-huntress, and I have been spreading my toils about your innocent footsteps, and it is only by flight that you can save yourself. Oh, yes!” she cried, with an ironical laugh, which seemed to express a keener anguish than another woman’s wildest sob, “I know how these people talk!” “Miss Desmond, on my honour----”