At last the cold fowl, patés, etc., were discussed, and a move was made to the drawing-room, where Mary did not follow the pair of lovers, over whom she saw a stormy cloud was impending, and thought the sooner it burst the better for them both--for Annabelle most certainly--and Mary's tender heart seemed to bleed for the proud girl's humiliation. 'My dearest Belle,' said Fotheringhame, attempting to take her hands caressingly in his the moment they were alone, 'what is the matter to-day--why this gloom and coldness of manner to me? In what have I erred or offended you?' He gazed at her appealingly and passionately; but she snatched her hands away, and drew herself haughtily up to her full height, while her proud white face only expressed much scorn and much grief too. 'You treated me once shamefully, Leslie,' she began. 'Let the dead past bury its dead,' said he, beseechingly; 'and now, dearest Annabelle----' 'How dare you speak to me thus again?' she asked, with half-averted face, and her blue eyes flashing with a kind of steel-like glitter. 'Thus--how?' he asked, in a bewildered and rather indignant tone, as it seemed to her. 'In terms of love or regard!' 'What _do_ you mean, Annabelle?' he asked, after a pause. 'Surely you have not permitted me to speak of love to you again--since that happy day in yonder gardens--or rather lured me into it, but to repel and cast me off, in revenge, for our quarrel in the foolish past time; beguiling me by your sweetness, but to fool me in the end?' 'I do not care what you think.' 'Good heaven! can it be that you do not love me, Annabelle--do not love me after all?' 'After all--all what, sir?' 'I hope, Annabelle,' said he, in the first faint tone of irritation she had ever heard from him, 'that after all this smoke, you have some fire to follow?' 'I do not understand you, Fotheringhame,' she replied, restraining her tears by a strong effort; 'but I fear that you are involved in something very dark and very dreadful. Who is Fanny--Fanny with the hazel eyes?' she demanded, passionately; 'Fanny, who is in the hands of the lawyers--who is so afraid of her husband, and for whom you sold your troop?' Bewilderment first, and then anger, appeared in the proud face of Fotheringhame, who certainly seemed not to know what to think, and grew very pale. Then he smiled, sadly and bitterly, with something of anger making his lip quiver. 'Surely, Annabelle,' said he, slowly, as if to gain time to think, 'you, with your superior grace and beauty, assured position, and the indefinable charm you possess for all, and more than all for me, need fear no woman?' 'Jealousy is stronger than fear, and I am humiliated enough to be jealous. You have secret meetings with a woman to me unknown!' she exclaimed in a low, bitter and concentrated voice. He grew still paler. 'You cannot deny it?' she added, imperiously. 'I do not--deny it,' he replied, sadly.