At Love's Cost

"Almost as hot as in Australia," he said, languidly, but watching her

out of the tail of his eye. "I suppose you were never there, Miss

Heron? Nor have I been; but I've got a letter in my pocket from a very

great friend of mine who is roughing it on a cattle-run, and he has so

often described the country to me, that I almost feel as if I knew it.

By the way, I think you know him. He is my dearest and closest friend--

Stafford Orme, as I always call him and think of him; of course I am

speaking of Lord Highcliffe."

The problem was solved: he saw her face suddenly flush, and then as

suddenly grow pale. So sharp had been the blow, its effect so

overwhelming, that her fan fell from her hand. Howard, as he restored

it to her, seized the opportunity of looking her full in the face, and

assurance was made doubly sure.

This girl _did_ hold his friend Stafford's happiness in her hand.

Ida was silent for a moment, because she knew she could not control her

voice, could not keep it steady; then, with a quickened breath, she

said: "Yes, I knew Mr. Orme--Lord Highcliffe."

"Then I hope you liked him," he said, mercilessly; for there was no

time for mercy; some idiot of a dancing-man would come and take her

from him the next minute. "I express the hope, because I myself like

and admire him very much indeed. He is a splendid fellow, and one of

those instances of a good man struggling with adversity. Are you fond

of poetry, Miss Heron?"

Ida's bosom was heaving, she was fighting for calm. She knew now who it

was with whom she was speaking; it was the friend, the cynical Mr.

Howard, of whom Stafford had told her; she had not caught his name at

the introduction. She regarded him with intense interest, and inclined

her head by way of assent.

"I never think of my friend, Lord Highcliffe, without recalling those

significant lines of William Watson's." He looked at her; and be it

said that his eyes were fine and impressive ones when he showed them

plainly. "These are the lines: "'I do not ask to have my fill

Of wine, of love, or fame.

I do not for a little ill

Against the gods exclaim.

"'One boon of fortune I implore,

With one petition kneel:

_At least caress me not before

Thou break me on thy wheel_!'"

Her lip quivered and her long lashes concealed her eyes.