"Lauraine must have been in fault," complains Mrs. Douglas fretfully. "It is all nonsense to say she is a martyr--Sir Francis was no worse than other men. If she had been less cold, less odd, he would never have run after other women." "I do not agree with you," interrupts Lady Etwynde. "Sir Francis is just what he always was--a thoroughly selfish man, and a man whose habits are ingrained in every fibre of his nature. He has never treated women with any respect, and his passion for Lauraine was as short-lived as any of his other fancies. He married her because--well, you know the real reason as well as you know the man, and in two years he was tired of her. For a woman, young, beautiful, warm-hearted, she has had a most trying life, and a most cruel experience. Had she indeed been what hundreds of others are, she might have consoled herself easily enough; but she could not do that, and--she has her reward." Mrs. Douglas is silent and uncomfortable. "It is a great pity," she says at last. "A great pity. And one can really do nothing?" "Nothing, except wait and hope." Then the door opens and Colonel Carlisle enters, and a beautiful flush and light come over her face as she greets him. Mrs. Douglas looks at her radiant eyes and sees his proud and tender glance, and hears the happy ring in their answering voices, and as she goes out and leaves them alone a little uncomfortable feeling rises in her heart. "Is there something in love, after all?" she asks herself. "What has that woman been saying?" asks Colonel Carlisle, as the door closes and he seats himself by his betrothed. "You looked worried when I came in." "She always does worry me, I think," says Lady Etwynde, nestling closer to his side, as the strong arm draws her towards him. "She is so worldly, so cold, so heartless; and I hate to hear a mother speak of her daughter as she speaks of Lauraine." "They seem totally unlike each other," says the Colonel. "Poor Lauraine! Have you any news?" "I had a letter this morning. She cannot come up for our marriage. Of course, Sir Francis won't let her--that is the real truth. It is a little bit of spite on his part." "What an unfortunate marriage that was!" exclaims Colonel Carlisle involuntarily. "Ah, my darling, thank God that we shall have love and sympathy on which to base ours. There is no hell upon earth like a union where there is no love, no respect, no single thought or feeling shared in common--where one's nature revolts and one's duty demands submission--where the sacredness of home is violated every hour until the name becomes a mockery----" "Poor Lauraine!--what she has missed!" Lady Etwynde sighs. "She had not your constancy, my darling!" murmurs her lover. "To think that for all these years you held me shrined in the proud little heart that I thought so cold and unforgiving once! How true a love was yours!"