"That is very sensible indeed in Mary," said Mrs. Desmond, with decided approval, while Bertram Chesleigh only laughed and said that men were not ogres, and he would not have eaten Miss Smith even if she had remained in the room. Meanwhile Golden had retreated to the sitting-room, leaving the door ajar as Ruby had bidden her. Every word of the conversation which had so strangely turned upon herself was distinctly audible. She listened in fear and trembling to Ruby's disclosures regarding her antipathy to men, dreading to hear some further revelation that would draw suspicion upon her, but the child had no idea of imparting anything she had promised to keep a secret, and the conversation gradually turned upon indifferent subjects, so that Golden, whose heart was beating wildly at the sound of her lover's voice, ventured at last on a sly peep at him through the open door. The breath came thick and fast over the sweet parted lips as she gazed--hardly as he had used her, the ineffable love and pity of a woman's heart came up to the beautiful blue eyes, and shone out upon the unconscious ingrate who dreamed not whose eyes were yearning over him with all the pain and pathos of a loving, yet outraged heart. "Oh, how pale and ill he looks," cried the poor child to herself. "He looks sad and altered, too. He has suffered almost as much as I have. Was it that which made him ill, I wonder? After all, he loved me dearly. But if he had overlooked the shame of my birth and brought me here, his sister would have scorned me. Ought I to blame him so very, very much?" As she asked herself the piteous question, the memory of some words rose into her mind--solemn words not to be lightly forgotten. "Will you, forsaking all others, cleave only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?" By the light of those words, Golden answered her own question. With a tearless sob she turned her eyes away from the too dear face of the false one. But though she would not look at him, she could not help hearing his voice as he answered little Ruby's voluble chatter. Presently the child showed him her great, wax doll, and when he had admired it sufficiently to please her, she said with an air of mystery: "You could not guess dollie's name if you tried all day, Uncle Bertie." "It is something high-flown, no doubt," he laughed. "It is Queen Victoria, or Princess Louise, or something like that." "You are quite wrong," she replied, with sparkling eyes. "Am I? Well, I have it now. You have called her Mary Smith, after your old-maid nurse." "No, I have not," said the little one, merrily. "I have called her Golden--Golden Chesleigh." In the next breath she added, quickly: "Oh, Uncle Bert, what made you start just as if someone had shot you?" "Did I start?" he inquired. "It must have been because I am very nervous since my illness. Well, and what did you say your elegant doll was named?"