"So you did. In my folly I hoped time would change you. What a contemptible lover I must be, having failed in eight long months to gain even the affections of a child. Will you never care for me, Phyllis?" "I do care for you," I return, doggedly, forcing myself to face him. "After mamma and Billy and Roland, I care for you more than any one else. I like you twenty thousand times better than papa or Dora. I cannot say more." I tap my foot impatiently upon the ground; my fingers seize and take to pieces wantonly the unoffending rose. As I pull its crimson leaves asunder I drop them in the brook and watch them float away under the moon's pale rays. I would that my cruel words could so depart. I feel angry, disconsolate, with the knowledge that through my own act I am cruelly wounding the man who, I must confess it, is my truest friend. I half think of apologizing, of saying something gentle, yet withal truthful, that shall take away the sting I have planted. A few words rise to my lips. I raise my head to give them utterance. Suddenly his arms are around me; he is kissing me with passion that is full of sadness. There is so much tenderness mingled with the despair in his face that I, too, am saddened into silence. Repentant, I slip a hand round his neck and give him back one kiss out of the many. "Don't be sorry," I whisper; "something tells me I shall yet love you with all my heart. Until then bear with me. Or, if you think it a risk, Marmaduke, and would rather put an end to it all now, do so, and I will not be angry with you." "More probably you would be thankful to me," he answered, bitterly. "I would not. I would far rather trust myself to you than stay at home after what has passed." My voice is trembling, my lips quiver faintly. "But if one of us must be unhappy, let it be me. I release you. I would not---" "Don't be foolish, child," he makes answer, roughly, "I could not release you, even if I would. You are part of my life and the best part, No; let us keep to our bargain now, whatever comes of it." His eyes are fixed on mine; gradually a softer light creeps into his face. Putting up his hand, he smoothes back the loose hair from my forehead and kisses me gravely on my lips. "You are my own little girl," he says, "my most precious possession; I will not have you inconsiderately used. Come, I will speak to your father." So hand in hand we return to the dragon's den, where, Mr. Carrington having faced the dragon and successfully bullied him, peace is restored, and it is finally arranged that in three weeks we are to be married. --- And in three weeks we _are_ married. In three short weeks I glide into a new life, in which Phyllis Carrington holds absolute sway, leaving Phyllis Vernon of the old days--the "general receiver" of the blame of the family--to be buried out of sight forever.