"Is well enough." He laughed a little. "You will see many a bandaged arm before the twenty-four hours are up; few of us finish without a scratch or strain or blister. This is a man's game, but it's not half so destructive as foot-ball. You wished me good luck for the Georgia race; will you repeat the honor before I go back to Ffrench?" "I wish you," she said unsteadily, "every kind of success, now and always. You saved Dick to-day--of all else you have done for him and for me I have not words to speak. But it made it harder to bear the thought of your hurt and risk from the hurt, when I knew that I had sent Dick there, who caused it." Lestrange hesitated, himself troubled. Her soft loveliness in the delicate light that left her eyes unreadable depths of shadow, her timidity and anxiety for his safety, were from their very unconsciousness most dangerous. And while he grasped at self-control, she came still nearer to the head of the steps and held out her small fair hand, mistaking his silence for leave-taking. "Good night; and I thank you for coming. I am not used to so much consideration." Her accents were unsure when she would have made them most certain, with her movement the handkerchief fell from her girdle to his feet. Mechanically Lestrange recovered the bit of linen, and felt it lie wet in his fingers. Wet-- "Emily!" he cried abruptly, and sprang the brief step between them. Her white, terrified face turned to him in the moonlight, but he saw her eyes. And seeing, he kissed her. The moment left no time for speech. Some one was coming down the drawing-room toward the long windows. Dick's impatient whistle sounded shrilly from the park. Panting, quivering, Emily drew from the embrace and fled within. She had no doubt of Lestrange, no question of his serious meaning--he had that force of sincerity which made his silence more convincing than the protestations of others. But alone in her room she laid her cheek against the hand his had touched. "I wish I had died in the convent," she cried to her heart. "I wish I had died before I made him unhappy too." VII Morning found a pale and languid Emily across the breakfast table from Mr. Ffrench. Yet, by a contradiction of the heart, her pride in loving and being loved so overbore the knowledge that only sorrow could result to herself and Lestrange, that her eyes shone wide and lustrous and her lips curved softly. Mr. Ffrench was almost in high spirits. "The boy was merely developing," he stated, over his grape-fruit. "I have been unjust to Richard. For two months Bailey has been talking of his interest in the business and attendance at the factory, but I was incredulous. Although I fancied I observed a change--have you observed a change in him, Emily?" "Yes," Emily confirmed, "a very great change. He has grown up, at last." "Ah? I can not express to you how it gratifies me to have a Ffrench representing me in public; have you seen the morning journals?"