"I quite understand," says Lauraine. "Perhaps I was selfish in my grief. I don't know. I had not meant to be; but he chose the world, and I, solitude. I should not be so unwise again, rest assured." "What does she mean?" says Lady Jean to herself uncomfortably. "And how strange she looked. Surely, surely, she cannot suspect!" An hour afterwards she is strolling with Sir Francis through the grounds of the Kursaal. "_Mon cher_," she says, with a little mocking laugh, "I do believe your wife is jealous. It is very amusing, but you had better be careful all the same. I object to be one in a _chronique scandaleuse_." "Lauraine jealous?" exclaims Sir Francis. "What put that idea in your head?" "She herself," answers Lady Jean. "She says for the future she will not be so neglectful of you. She is afraid she left you too much alone. Is not that charming news? Does it not arouse very sweet emotions?" "Don't talk folly, Jean," mutters Sir Francis savagely. "You know, or ought to know, how much I care for Lauraine. A poor, weak, milk-and-water creature. Heavens! how could I have ever fancied myself in love with her?" "But you were, you know," says Lady Jean calmly. "Only, like all men, you deny it when your fickle fancy changes. It is always the _last_ who is the only real love." "I know well enough who is my real love, last or first," he says hoarsely; and his eyes flash bold, ardent admiration at her, under the drooping foliage of the trees. "Hush!" she whispers, and with a warning glance around. "You must not say such words--in public!" CHAPTER XIX We whisper, and hint, and chuckle, And grin at a brother's shame. Lauraine sees no more of Keith during the next week, but she hears from Mrs. Woollffe that he has gone to the Black Forest. "I don't know what's come to him," complains the garrulous American. "Guess he's off his head sometimes. Those dollars have been an unlucky windfall for him. He's not like the same chap he was in New York. He never looks pleased noway, and he was the merriest, larkiest young fellow any one could wish to see when I knew him first. I thought Nan would wake him up a bit, but she don't seem to answer; and now he's run off from Baden-Baden as if it was a den of rattlesnakes; and they do say (she drops her voice mysteriously) that he's with that notorious Frenchwoman Coralie Lafitte. My word, if that's so, won't she make the dollars fly. All the same, I'm uncommon sorry for Keith. Never thought he was one of _that_ sort." Lauraine grows hot and cold with shame as she listens. She had thought there would be nothing harder for her to do after giving him up, after that last sad parting; but to hear of his recklessness, his sins, to know that she may be in a measure to blame for both cuts her to the heart.