May Burnett, with her little palpitating heart full of trouble, pretty butterfly of fashion that she was, was flitting through the sunshine one afternoon for the second time to confide her troublesome secret to her sister and obtain her help, but her heart failed her again. The right road was so steep and hard, so she turned down the wrong one once more, laughed at Claire, and left her with saddened face, as in response to the again-repeated question, "Why did you come?" she replied: "Oh, I don't know. Just to try and make people forget what a horrible house this has been. I almost wonder, though, that I dare to call." She gave her sister a childlike kiss, and away she went full sail, and with no more ballast than she possessed two years before, at the time she was so severely taken to task for flirting with Louis Gravani, when the handsome young artist painted her portrait and that of her father, hers to hang in the drawing-room, that of the Master of the Ceremonies in the ante-room at the Assembly Rooms. Claire went to the window to gaze down over the flowers in the balcony at her sister, as she stepped lightly into her carriage, just as manly, handsome Richard Linnell came by on the other side, to raise his hat gravely to each of the sisters in turn, with the effect of making Claire shrink back more into the room, so that she only heard the door of the britzka banged to, and the horses start off, while Richard Linnell went on with bended head and knitted brows, thinking of the part he had taken in the serenade on that terrible night. "Goose!" said May Burnett to herself angrily, as she ordered the footman to go to Miss Clode's. "I believe she'd be ready to throw herself away on that penniless fellow. I haven't patience with her, and--" Here she had to bend to a couple of ladies with a most gracious smile. A few yards further and she encountered Lord Carboro', whose hat was carefully raised to her, and on turning the bend where the cliff curved off to the north, she came suddenly upon a handsome pony carriage, driven by Cora Dean in a dazzling new costume of creamy silk and lace, while her mother leaned back in ruby satin, with her eyes half-closed, a small groom behind, seated upon a very tiny perch, having his arms closely folded, and his hat cocked at a wonderful angle. The driver of the high-stepping pair of ponies stared hard at May Burnett, while that lady leaned back languidly, and quite ignored the presence of the handsome actress. "Little upstart!" muttered Cora, as she gave her ponies a sharp cut, making them tear along. "I'm not good enough for her to even see; but maybe smuts will fall on the whitest snow. Who knows, my pretty baby madam? Get on with you then!" _Whish-swish_, and the ponies sent the chalky dust flying as they tore along.