If Celeste expected Nora to exhibit any signs of distress over the

approaching departure, she was disappointed. In truth, Nora was secretly

pleased to be rid of these two suitors, much as she liked them. The Barone

had not yet proposed, and his sudden determination to return to Rome

eliminated this disagreeable possibility. She was glad Abbott was going

because she had hurt him without intention, and the sight of him was, in

spite of her innocence, a constant reproach. Presently she would have her

work, and there would be no time for loneliness.

The person who suffered keenest was Celeste. She was awake; the tender

little dream was gone; and bravely she accepted the fact. Never her agile

fingers stumbled, and she played remarkably well, from Beethoven, Chopin,

Grieg, Rubinstein, MacDowell. And Nora, perversely enough, sang from old

light opera.

When the two men departed, Celeste went to her room and Nora out upon the

terrace. It was after five. No one was about, so far as she could see. She

stood enchanted over the transformation that was affecting the mountains

and the lakes. How she loved the spot! How she would have liked to spend

the rest of her days here! And how beautiful all the world was to-day!

She gave a frightened little scream. A strong pair of arms had encircled

her. She started to cry out again, but the sound was muffled and blotted

out by the pressure of a man's lips upon her own. She struggled violently,

and suddenly was freed.

"If I were a man," she said, "you should die for that!"

"It was an opportunity not to be ignored," returned Courtlandt. "It is

true that I was a fool to run away as I did, but my return has convinced

me that I should have been as much a fool had I remained to tag you about,

begging for an interview. I wrote you letters. You returned them unopened.

You have condemned me without a hearing. So be it. You may consider that

kiss the farewell appearance so dear to the operatic heart," bitterly.

He addressed most of this to the back of her head, for she was already

walking toward the villa into which she disappeared with the proud air of

some queen of tragedy. She was a capital actress.

A heavy hand fell upon Courtlandt's shoulder. He was irresistibly drawn

right about face.

"Now, then, Mr. Courtlandt," said Harrigan, his eyes blue and cold as ice,

"perhaps you will explain?"

With rage and despair in his heart, Courtlandt flung off the hand and

answered: "I refuse!"

"Ah!" Harrigan stood off a few steps and ran his glance critically up and

down this man of whom he had thought to make a friend. "You're a husky

lad. There's one way out of this for you."




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