I confess to an overpowering feeling of curiosity. I dismiss my maid with more haste than usual, and, sitting in my dressing-gown and slippers, long for Bebe's coming. I am convinced I shall not sleep one wink if she fails to keep this appointment. I am not doomed to a sleepless night, however, as presently she comes in--all her beautiful hair loose about her shoulders. "Now, Bebe" I exclaim, jumping up to give her a good shake, "how could you be so cross all about nothing? I did not know myself he was coming so soon. You made me miserable the entire evening, and spoiled everything." "But you knew he was coming sometime; why did you not say so?" "I forgot all about him. I knew no reason why I should attach importance to his presence here. I don't know now either. I was quite ignorant of your previous acquaintance with him. Probably had he waited in London until next week, as he originally intended, it might have occurred to me to mention his coming, and so I would have spared myself all the cruelty and neglect and wicked looks so lavishly bestowed upon me this evening." "You have yet to learn," says Miss Beatoun, who _is_, I think, a little ashamed of her pettishness, "that of all things I most detest being taken by surprise. It puts me out dreadfully; I don't recover myself for ever so long; and to see Lord Chandos here, of all people, when I believed him safe in Italy, took away my breath. Phyllis, I don't know how it is, but I feel I must tell you all about it." "Yes, do. I am so anxious to hear. Yet I half guess he is, or was, a lover of yours. Is it not so? And something has gone wrong?" "Very much wrong, indeed," with a rather bitter laugh. "It will be a slight come-down to my pride to tell you this story; but I can trust you, can I not? I am not fond of women friends as a rule--indeed, Harriet is my only one--but you, Phyllis, have exercised upon me some charm, I do believe, as when I am near you I forget to be reserved." "That is because you know how well I like you." "Is it? Perhaps so. Well, about Lord Chandos. My story is a short one, you will say, and to the point. I met him first two years ago. He fell in love with me, and last year asked me to marry him. That is all; but you will understand by it how little ambitious I was of meeting him again." "And you---" "Refused him, dear. How could I do otherwise? He was only Captain Everett then, without a prospect on earth; and I am no heiress. It would have meant poverty--scarcely even what is called 'genteel poverty'--had I consented to be his wife; and"--with a quick shudder of disgust--"I would rather be dead, I think, than endure such a life as that." "Did you love him, Bebe?" "I liked him well enough to marry him, certainly," she admits, slowly, "had circumstances been different." We are silent for a little time; then Bebe says, in a low tone.