"'You walk the sunny side of fate, The wise world smiles and calls you great. The golden fruitage of success Drops at your feet in plenteousness; And you have blessings manifold; Renown and power and friends and gold, They build a wall between us twain That may not be thrown down again. Alas! for I the long time through Have loved you better than you knew.'" Suddenly a sweet, chilly breath of night air blew over her. She looked up and saw St. Leon Le Roy parting the heavy curtains of silk and lace at the bay-window behind which he had been quietly sitting smoking a cigar. Bewildered, startled, Laurel threw down her book and sprung up in ignominious flight. The master of Eden coolly caught her hands and forced her back into her seat. "Why need you always fly from me as though I were an ogre?" he said, plaintively. "I shall not eat you, child, tempted as I might be to do so." "I--I thought myself alone," she stammered, crimsoning under his mocking raillery. "There is no harm done," he answered, drawing up a chair in front of her and gazing at her with the same slow, sweet smile he had worn when he bade her return to his mother and the count that evening. "I was smoking at the window when you first came in, and I thought at first I would be still and not disturb you, thinking you would go in a moment. But you stayed, and--I changed my mind." Fancying some covert meaning in his words, she answered, quickly: "But it is late, and indeed I must be going upstairs now." CHAPTER XXII. St. Leon glanced at his watch. "No, it is not late--at least, not midnight. Surely you can spare me a few minutes, Miss Gordon. I wish very much to speak to you," he said, almost gravely. "I cannot imagine why you should wish to speak to me," she began, tremulously. "Cannot you?" laughing. "Well, suppose I have a mind to lecture you on your frivolity, Miss Gordon? Do you know, I never dreamed what an egregious flirt you were until I saw you bringing the whole battery of your charms to bear on that fascinated Frenchman this evening? Why have you never condescended to me likewise?" "I deny the imputation. I am not a flirt," she answered, indignantly. "Then you were in earnest--worse still!" he said, in that light, mocking tone, with his piercing eyes on her burning face. "Beatrix--pardon, Miss Gordon--what would Cyril Wentworth say to that?" "Nothing! It is no more concern of his," she flashed out, passionately unconscious of the sudden joy that flashed into his eyes. "Do you mean that you have broken with Wentworth?" he exclaimed. "Yes," she answered, coldly. He regarded her suspiciously. "Do you know that he is gone away?" he asked, doubtfully. "To Europe--yes, but I do not care!" she answered, out of the recklessness of her despair.