There was no need to doubt after this, of course. Her love for Ralph Gowan had rendered her restless and despairing, and so she had worked out this innocent romance, intending to defend herself against him. The heroines of her favorite novels married for money when they could not marry for love, and why should not she? Remember, she was only seventeen, and had been brought up in Vagabondia among people who did not often regard consequences. Mr. Gerald Chandos was rich, made violent love to her, and was ready to promise anything, it appeared,--not that she demanded much; the Lord Burleighs of her experience invariably showered jewels and equipages and fine raiment upon their brides without being asked. She would have thought it positive bliss to be tied to Ralph Gowan for six or seven years without any earthly prospect of ever being married; to have belonged to him as Dolly belonged to Grif, to sit in the parlor and listen to him while he made love to her as Grif made love to Dolly, would have been quite enough steady-going rapture for her; but since that was out of the question, Mr. Gerald Chandos and diamonds and a carriage would have to fill up the blank. But, of course, she did not say this to Aimée. In fact, after her first burst of excitement subsided, Aimée could not gain much from her. She cried a little more, and then seemed vexed with herself, and tried to cool down, and at last so far succeeded that she sat up and pushed her tangled hair from her wet, hot face, and began to search for the ring. “It has got a diamond in the centre,” she said, trying to speak indifferently. “I don't believe you looked at it. The opals are splendid, too.” “Are you going to wear it?” asked Aimée. She colored up to her forehead. “No, I am not,” she answered. “I should have worn it before if I had intended to let people see it. I told you it was a secret. I have had this ring three or four days.” “Why is it a secret?” demanded Dame Prudence. “I don't believe in secrets,--particularly in secret engagements. Is n't Phil to know?” She turned away to put the ring into its case. “Not yet,” she replied, pettishly. “Time enough when it can't be helped. It is a secret, I tell you, and I don't care about everybody's talking it over.” And she would say no more. CHAPTER XII. ~ IN WHICH THERE IS AN EXPLOSION. “It is my impression,” said Dolly, “that something is going to happen.”