Beyond the Rocks

It was not an unnatural circumstance that he should look upon the idea

of a dinner at the respectable private hotel, with his son-in-law and

daughter, as a trifle dull for Paris, or that he should have suggested a

meal at the Ritz would do them both good.

"Come and dine with me instead, my dear child," he said, with his grand

air. "Josiah, you must begin to go out a little and shake off your

illness, my dear fellow."

But Josiah was peevish.

Not to-night--certainly not to-night. It was the evening he was to take

the two doses of his new medicine, one half an hour after the other, and

he could not leave the hotel. Then he saw how poor Theodora's face fell,

and one of his sparks of consideration for the feelings of others came

to him, and he announced gruffly that his wife might go with her father,

if she pleased, provided she crept into her room, which was next door to

his own, without the least noise on her return.

"I must not be disturbed in my first sleep," he said; and Theodora

thanked him rapturously.

It was so good of him to let her go--she would, indeed, make not the

least noise, and she danced out of the room to get ready in a way Josiah

Brown had never seen her do before. And after she had gone--Captain

Fitzgerald came back to fetch her--this fact rankled with him and

prevented his sleep for more than twenty minutes.

"My sweet child," said Captain Fitzgerald, when he was seated beside his

daughter in her brougham, rolling down the Champs-Elysées, "you must not

be so grateful; he won't let you out again if you are."

"Oh, papa!" said Theodora.

They arrived at the Ritz just at the right moment. It was a lovely

night, but rather cold, so there were no diners in the garden, and the

crowd from the restaurant extended even into the hall.

It was an immense satisfaction to Dominic Fitzgerald to walk through

them all with this singularly beautiful young woman, and to remark the

effect she produced, and his cup of happiness was full when they came

upon a party at the lower end by the door; prominent, as hostess, being

Jane Anastasia McBride--the fabulously rich American widow.

In a second of time he reviewed the situation; a faint coldness in his

manner would be the thing to draw--and it was; for when he had greeted

Mrs. McBride without gush, and presented his daughter with the air of

just passing on, the widow implored them with great cordiality to leave

their solitary meal and join her party. Nor would she hear of any

refusal.