"Nothing of the sort," with impatient wrath; "a mere matter of business, as I said to you just now." He does not believe her, and in his proud old heart there is a secret indignation at Vane for his cavalier flitting. Reine shall not run after him. "You mustn't go," he says, bluntly. "I won't have you run after him. He'll come to of himself, only give him time and let him have his fling undisturbed. You will only disgust him, going after him. You shall hold your own, and be as stiff as he is." She stares at him, her white hands locked before her, her sweet lips apart. "But, uncle----" she begins. "I know," he interrupts, "but believe me, child, I know men better than you do. You must not seem to care. Remember that you are a bride, unwooed, as yet, married for spite, not for love. In fact, Vane has gone away for a time just to accustom himself to the idea of his strange marriage, and to give you time to--to train yourself for your new position." "To make myself over into a woman like Maud," she breathes, low and bitterly. He starts, evidently disconcerted. "Eh? what? Who told you that, Reine?" "A little bird in the air whispered it," she retorts, with grim pleasantry. "No such thing. I wish I knew who had been telling tales to you. I'd wring their necks!" testily. "But you understand, don't you," anxiously, "how premature it would be to follow him? Give him a little time. He'll come to his senses fast enough, and thank fortune for his pretty little wife!" "Uncle Langton," indignantly, "do give me leave to speak. Do you think I'm a love-sick fool to go running after a man that despises me?" "I thought you had more sense," he says, beaming upon her; "you give it up, then?" "No, I am determined to go. Try to understand, sir, that it is on no personal business I wish to see him. It is for--for another. He will understand." "Write to him, then, Reine." "It would not do. He is very obstinate, I fancy. I may have to urge him very persistently." Mr. Langton peers at her curiously beneath his shaggy brows. "What is this mysterious mission on which you are going, Reine? Explain." The dark lashes fall, veiling her troubled eyes from his keen scrutiny. "I cannot tell you; it may turn out a mere chimera; say that I am going on a 'wild-goose chase,' and you will hit the truth." "Of course you know there is not another train until to-morrow," he observes. "Vane will have had twenty-four hours the start of you." "I know that. Still I must follow him," she says, persistently. "Then I must tell you. I didn't mean you should know just yet; it is not likely you will find him in New York when you go. He's off for the other side of the 'herring-pond.'" "Gone abroad!" She starts, and her tortured face whitens. Into her eyes comes a look of despair.