"Oh yes, there is--there," eagerly, _"must_ be. What! Would you throw me over altogether, Maurice? Oh, that I _could_ not bear! Why should we not be as brother and sister to each other? Yes, yes," vehemently; "tell me it shall be so. You will ask me to your new house, Maurice, won't you?" She is looking up into his face, her hand still pressing his arm. "My wife's house." "Your wife's house is yours, is it not? You owe yourself something from this marriage. You will ask me there now and then?" "She will ask her own guests, I suppose." "She will ask whom _you_ choose. Pah! what is she but a child in your hands?" "Tita is not the cipher you describe her," says Rylton coldly. "No, no; I spoke wrongly--I am always wrong, it seems to me," says she, with such sweet contrition that she disarms him again. "I cannot live if I cannot see you sometimes, and, besides, you _know_ what my life is here, and how few are the houses I can go to, and"--she slips her arms suddenly round his neck--"you _will_ ask me sometimes, Maurice?" "Yes." "You promise that?" "I promise that, as far as it lies in my power, I will always befriend you." "Ah, that is not enough," says she, laughing and sobbing in the same breath. "I am losing you for ever. Give me something to dwell upon, to hope for. Swear you will make me your guest sometimes." "I swear it," says he huskily. He removes her arms from his neck, and holds her from him. His face is gray. "It is for the sake of our old _friendship_ that I plead," says she. The tears are running down her cheeks. "Our friendship," repeats he, with a groan. He makes a movement as if to fling her from him, then suddenly catches her to his heart, and presses his lips passionately to hers. * * * * * "Maurice! Maurice!" calls somebody. Marian sinks upon a couch near her, and buries her face in her hands. Sir Maurice goes into the hall to meet his bride. The partings are very brief. Tita, who is in the gayest spirits, says good-bye to everybody with a light heart. Has not her freedom been accomplished? She receives Lady Rylton's effusive embrace calmly. There are some, indeed, who say that the little bride did not return her kiss. Just at the very last, with her foot almost on the carriage step, Tita looks back, and seeing Margaret at a little distance, runs to her, and flings herself into her embrace. "You are mine now, my own cousin!" whispers she joyfully. "God bless you, Tita," says Margaret in a whisper, too, but very earnestly, "and preserve to you your happy heart!" "Oh, I shall always be happy," says Tita; "and I shall hurry back to see _you,"_ giving her another hug. Then somebody puts her into the carriage, and, still smiling and waving her hands, she is driven away. "Really, Margaret, you should be flattered," says Lady Rylton, with a sneer. "She seems to think more of you than of her husband."