Azalia spent a very restless day and night after Marie had left her to go upon her secret quest. Her mind was busy, and her lover, Lord Clive, was nearly all the time in her thoughts. She knew that she had done him a cruel injustice in promising to become his wife. She would never have done so had not Laurie Meredith been so close by that she was tempted to answer "yes" in order to provoke his wrath and jealousy. She had failed most ignobly. Laurie had remained cold, unmoved, indifferent, and there remained to her nothing but the consciousness of having made a fatal mistake, of having wronged the heart of another man by accepting him only for a purpose that now recoiled upon her own head. She could never marry Lord Clive, even if she loved him, for look which way she would she saw only the impossibility of such a marriage. If Marie found the marriage-certificate, and it proved her legally Laurie Meredith's wife, she, the unacknowledged wife of an indifferent husband, could not wed Lord Clive. On the other hand, if the marriage had been only a sham, how could she, with that cruel stain upon her, dare to enter one of the proudest homes of old England? Even if she could have been dishonest enough to keep the secret, it might be found out some day--and then? Azalia sunk her head in her hands and sobbed aloud: "No, no, I could not bear that! I must break with him even though he curse me!" She kept her room for several days, feigning illness, but in reality too wretched to meet the lover whose anger she feared and dreaded so much. Her timid heart ached with pain because of the pain she must inflict on Lord Clive. But she could not feign illness always. Lady Ivon grew impatient of her seclusion, declaring that she was only moping, that she would be better if she would come into their private parlor and see Lord Clive, who was always hanging about, sending messages and flowers to his invisible lady-love. "I will come down presently. Tell him so for me, please," the girl said, patiently; and when the door had closed upon Lady Ivon's silken trailing skirts, she fell down upon her knees and begged God to forgive her for the wrong she had done to Lord Clive, and to help her to bear his anger when she told him the truth. He was waiting in the handsome private parlor belonging to Lord Ivon's elegant suite of rooms at Willard's Hotel, and when she came gliding in, softly as a spirit in her long gown of rich black velvet, he came eagerly to meet her, exclaiming: "My darling, I am glad you are well enough to come out again, for I have missed you very much." "Thank you, Lord Clive," she said, in a constrained voice; and evading the arms outstretched to embrace her, she sunk wearily into a chair. He followed, and sat down by her side. "Oh, you have been ill--you are pale and wan indeed, Azalia. I see now that I did you an injustice, for I half believed, like Lady Ivon, that it was a fit of _ennui_ or the _dismals_."