So Maude was obliged to go away in despair, and, meeting her maid at the door of her own room, was informed that Mr. Hillary had been inquiring for her, “ever so many times,” the maid said; “and I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Miss, to know when you’d have your dress changed.” Yes, there was to be more changing of dresses before Maude’s work was done. She resigned herself with a sigh to the hands of the young person who waited upon her; and then went down-stairs, gorgeous in pink silk and crape puffings, and with a crown of dewy rosebuds on her head, to receive the compliments and congratulations of her father’s friends, and to act her part in that social drama which was quite as difficult a performance as the “Lady of Lyons.” Francis Tredethlyn sat quite alone in the little dimly-lighted study at the end of the long, rambling mansion, while Mr. Hillary’s guests finished the evening with a little dancing, a great deal of flirting, and a perpetual sipping of sparkling wines, in out-of-the-way corridors and lobbies, where there were hothouse flowers and low chintz-covered ottomans, and an air of loneliness conducive to flirtation. Francis Tredethlyn sat alone, with Julia’s diamonds still lying at his feet, and brooded over his position. He had outraged Maude, whom he adored. He had injured Julia, to whom he was bound by every sentiment of honour and good faith. No words can express the bitterness of his remorse as he sat pondering upon what he had done. “False to my cousin Susan, false to Julia Desmond,” he thought; “nothing but mischief has come to me since I inherited that miserable money. I have no right to be amongst these people. I never should have come to this house, where _her_ presence has always seemed to turn my brain.” He looked down at the diamonds lying on the carpet, and smiled bitterly as he remembered how much money they represented,--more than had been spent on Susan Tredethlyn in all the girl’s joyless life--ten times more than would have restored the young man’s father to solvency and comfort, that time when his uncle refused him the loan of two hundred pounds. He stopped and gathered together the fallen jewels. There was a writing-table near him, with pens, and paper, and sealing-wax, and all necessary implements. He selected a large sheet of paper, and packed the diamonds into a parcel. But before sealing the packet he wrote a few lines on the margin of the paper,-- “DEAR MISS DESMOND,