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And when her husband's death had placed her once more in the security and affluence of her grandfather's house, with fresh hopes and fresh chances before her, she had but one wish with regard to that Parisian episode of her life, to forget it as though it had never been. She hoped, and, as time went on, she felt sure, that she would never see Monsieur D'Arblet again.

"And it is precisely because it is so small, Monsieur D'Arblet," said Vera, decidedly, "that I cannot imagine why you should make such a point of a trifle like this; and as I don't like being mixed up in things I don't understand, I must, I think, decline to have anything to do with it." "Allons donc!" said the vicomte to himself. "I am reduced to the china."

You have encouraged my ardent passion for you until you did lift me up to Heaven." Here Monsieur D'Arblet stretched up both his arms with a suddenness which endangered the branches of the tall Dresden candelabra on the high mantelpiece behind him. "After which you do reject me and cast me down to hell!" and down came both hands heavily upon the velvet table between them.

"You will come back with us to lunch, Monsieur D'Arblet?" "I shall be delighted, madame." "If you will excuse me, Cissy, I am not going to lunch with you to-day," said Vera. "My dear! where are you going, then?" "I have a visit to pay an engagement, I mean in in Cadogan Place. I will be home very soon, in time for your drive, if you don't mind my leaving you."

Denis Wilde simply reversed himself, that is to say, he lay on his back instead of his face, stared up at the sky, and chewed grass perseveringly. He had evidently no intention of being driven off the field. "I had something of great importance to say to you this evening," murmured Monsieur D'Arblet, at length, looking fixedly at his enemy's upturned face.

Wilde, it is a very singular thing about that man I can't think why he follows me about so." "Can't you!" very grimly. "I assure you the man is in no more love with me than than " "I am! I suppose you will say next." "Oh dear, no, you are utterly incorrigible and quite in earnest; but Monsieur D'Arblet is pretending to be in love with me." "He makes a very good pretence of it, at all events.

"Never mind," she said to herself, presently; "it can't last for ever. It must be soon now, and I shall be Maurice's wife in the end." But all this time she had forgotten Monsieur Le Vicomte D'Arblet, whom she had not seen again since the night she had driven him home from Walpole Lodge. He had left England, she knew. Helen privately hoped he had left this earth.

D'Arblet had charming manners, and an accurate knowledge of the weakness of the fair sex; he knew when to flatter and when to cajole her, when to be tenderly sympathetic to her sorrows, and when to divert her thoughts to brighter and pleasanter topics than her own miseries. He succeeded in fascinating her completely.

Lucien D'Arblet came towards her smiling, and sank down into a vacant basket-chair by her side with the air of a man who knows himself to be welcome. He had been paying a great deal of attention latterly to the beautiful Miss Nevill; he had followed her about everywhere, and had made it patent in every public place where he had met her that she alone was the sole aim and object of his thoughts.

"Good-night, madame, and many thanks for your kindness," said D'Arblet, raising his hat politely. In another minute he was gone, and Helen, hoping that the darkness had concealed the traces of her agitation from the servant's prying eyes, was driven on, more dead than alive, to her grandfather's house.