His scornful laugh was not good to hear. "That was my revenge," he said. "I fooled her to the top of her bent, while I laughed in my sleeve at her credulity. She should have known me better, yet she came down here with the deliberate intention of winning me back. She did not find St. Leon the boy who was blinded by her beauty, she found Le Roy, the man who saw through her shallow arts and despised her." She had no answer ready and he went on more slowly after a moment: "Shall I confess that I had another motive too, Beatrix? I longed to pique you if possible. Since you came to Eden you have been cold, shy, frightened of me always. I confess that I gave you room at first, but I soon became interested in you and would have repaired my error if you had let me. But you did not. You treated me with a distant, respectful civility, as if I had been as old as my mother. When Mrs. Merivale came I determined to show you that I was not too antiquated to admire fair women and to be admired by them. But you held your own so bravely, you flirted so charmingly with Count Fitz John that I was completely blinded and half maddened by your indifference. Ah, my darling," he bent toward her with a flash of triumphant love in his splendid eyes, "if you had not come in here to night, I should never have dreamed, never have known--" "You heard--you saw?" she broke in, hot and red with bitter shame. "Oh, I could sooner have died!" hiding her burning face in her small hands. "Hush, Beatrix." He drew the trembling hands away, put his arms around her tenderly, and pillowed the flushed face on his breast. "It was a happy chance, my love. Do not regret it for my sake. Do not think I spied upon your actions, darling. I did not mean to disturb you, only I could not forbear peeping through the curtains and feasting my eyes on your sweetness. So it came to pass that I heard and saw--that which made me the happiest of men!" "You take it for granted that I--that you--" she began to remonstrate, incoherently, with a mutinous, trembling pout upon her sweet red lips. "That you belong to me--that I may ask you for your love--since you have broken with Wentworth--yes," he answered, full of happy faith. "Is it not true, Beatrix, my beautiful, dark-eyed love? Will you not be my cherished little wife?" And paler than the marble statue that glimmered coldly white in the shadowy corner yonder, she murmured: "I will." Full of boundless trust and passion he bent down and pressed a lingering, passionate kiss on the lips of the beautiful impostor. "God bless you, my little love," he said, huskily, and with deep _empressement_, "you shall never regret that sweet promise." He meant to keep his word, but we mortals are so blind. The day came when she felt that all her life was one long regret!