"I have been very foolish," says Lauraine, the tears standing in her eyes as they look out at the quiet night. "When I was young, a mere girl, Keith and I betrothed ourselves. You know my mother was his guardian, and all our childhood was passed together. No one could influence him or manage him as I could. He was always impulsive, reckless, passionate, but oh! so loving and so generous of heart. Well, as we grew older the love seemed to grow with us. Then my mother began to notice it. She became alarmed; we were parted; but still neither of us forgot. At last Keith spoke to my mother. Of course she laughed, and treated it as a boy's fancy. He had nothing, and we were not rich; at least, so she said always. He grew angry, and said he would go abroad, and make a fortune. She said 'very well; when he had made it he could come back and claim me.' In the end he went to America. We were not allowed to correspond, and year after year went by. I heard nothing from him or about him. Then I was introduced to London life. I had a season of triumphs, gaiety, amusements. I will not say it weakened my memory of Keith, but at least it filled up the emptiness of my life, and I was young, and enjoyment seemed easy enough. In my third season, I met Sir Francis Vavasour. From that time my mother's whole soul was bent on a marriage between us. I cannot tell you now the thousand and one things that combined to throw us together, to wind a web about my careless feet. The memory of Keith had grown less distinct. Four years had passed, and no sign. I began to think he had forgotten. Later on, I found my mother had deceived me. He _had_ written to her, speaking always of his unfalterable fidelity; then came the news of brighter prospects of a great fortune in store; of entreaty to tell me, and let me hear from him. She did nothing of the sort. She only told me that if I did not accept Sir Francis it meant ruin to her. That her debts were enormous; that I had cost her a small fortune in these three seasons; that--oh, I cannot tell you it all now. I am not naturally weak-minded, but I suffered myself to be persuaded. I never attempt to hold myself blameless; still, had I known about Keith.... Well, on my wedding-day, I received a letter from him. He was possessor of a large fortune, he loved me more than ever, and he would be in London, at our house, on that very day. Imagine my feelings. It was all too late then. Nothing could be done. I had to school myself as best I could to meet my girlhood's lover an hour after I had become Sir Francis Vavasour's wife. It was a terrible ordeal. Poor Keith! Oh, what I felt when I saw what I had given him to bear. He was half mad, and I--oh, how sick and ashamed and wicked I felt. We parted again, and for eighteen months we did not meet. Then he came to Rome one winter, and I was there. He greeted me like any other acquaintance. I thought he had forgotten.