<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1><SPAN name="THE_GOLDEN_SILENCE" id="THE_GOLDEN_SILENCE"></SPAN>THE GOLDEN SILENCE</h1>
<h2>BY C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="I" id="I"></SPAN>I</h2>
<p>Stephen Knight was very angry, though he meant
to be kind and patient with Margot. Perhaps, after
all, she had not given the interview to the newspaper
reporter. It might be what she herself would call a
"fake." But as for her coming to stop at a big, fashionable
hotel like the Carlton, in the circumstances she could hardly
have done anything in worse taste.</p>
<p>He hated to think that she was capable of taking so false
a step. He hated to think that it was exactly like her to take
it. He hated to be obliged to call on her in the hotel; and he
hated himself for hating it.</p>
<p>Knight was of the world that is inclined to regard servants
as automata; but he was absurdly self-conscious as he saw his
card on a silver tray, in the hand of an expressionless, liveried
youth who probably had the famous interview in his pocket.
If not there, it was only because the paper would not fit in. The
footman had certainly read the interview, and followed the
"Northmorland Case" with passionate interest, for months,
from the time it began with melodrama, and turned violently
to tragedy, up to the present moment when (as the journalists
neatly crammed the news into a nutshell) "it bade fair to end
with marriage-bells."</p>
<p>Many servants and small tradespeople in London had taken
shares, Stephen had heard, as a speculative investment, in
the scheme originated to provide capital for the "other side,"
which was to return a hundred per cent. in case of success.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></SPAN></span>
Probably the expressionless youth was inwardly reviling the
Northmorland family because he had lost his money and would
be obliged to carry silver trays all the rest of his life, instead of
starting a green grocery business. Stephen hoped that his
own face was as expressionless, as he waited to receive the
unwelcome message that Miss Lorenzi was at home.</p>
<p>It came very quickly, and in a worse form than Stephen
had expected. Miss Lorenzi was in the Palm Court, and would
Mr. Knight please come to her there?</p>
<p>Of course he had to obey; but it was harder than ever to
remain expressionless.</p>
<p>There were a good many people in the Palm Court, and they
all looked at Stephen Knight as he threaded his intricate way
among chairs and little tables and palms, toward a corner
where a young woman in black crape sat on a pink sofa. Her hat
was very large, and a palm with enormous fan-leaves drooped
above it like a sympathetic weeping willow on a mourning
brooch. But under the hat was a splendidly beautiful dark face.</p>
<p>"Looks as if he were on his way to be shot," a man who
knew all about the great case said to a woman who had lunched
with him.</p>
<p>"Looks more as if he were on his way to shoot," she laughed,
as one does laugh at other people's troubles, which are apt
to be ridiculous. "He's simply glaring."</p>
<p>"Poor beggar!" Her companion found pleasure in pitying
Lord Northmorland's brother, whom he had never succeeded
in getting to know. "Which is he, fool or hero?"</p>
<p>"Both. A fool to have proposed to the girl. A hero to stick
to her, now he has proposed. He must be awfully sick about
the interview. I do think it's excuse enough to throw her over."</p>
<p>"I don't know. It's the sort of business a man can't very
well chuck, once he's let himself in for it. Every one blames
him now for having anything to do with Miss Lorenzi. They'd
blame him a lot more for throwing her over."</p>
<p>"Women wouldn't."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"No. Because he happens to be young and good-looking.
But all his popularity won't make the women who like him
receive his wife. She isn't a woman's woman."</p>
<p>"I should think not, indeed! We're too clever to be taken
in by that sort, all eyes and melodrama. They say Lord
Northmorland warned his brother against her, and prophesied
she'd get hold of him, if he didn't let her alone. The Duchess
of Amidon told Lady Peggy Lynch—whom I know a little—that
immediately after Lorenzi committed suicide, this Margot
girl wrote to Stephen Knight and implored him to help her.
I can quite believe she would. Fancy the daughter of the
unsuccessful claimant to his brother's title writing begging
letters to a young man like Stephen Knight! It appeals to
one's sense of humour."</p>
<p>"What a pity Knight didn't see it in that light—what?"</p>
<p>"Yet he has a sense of humour, I believe. It's supposed
to be one of his charms. But the sense of humour often fails
where one's own affairs are concerned. You know he's celebrated
for his quaint ideas about life. They say he has socialistic
views, or something rather like them. His brother and
he are as different from one another as light is from darkness.
Stephen gives away a lot of money, and Lady Peggy says that
nobody ever asks him for anything in vain. He can't stand seeing
people unhappy, if he can do anything to help. Probably,
after he'd been kind to the Lorenzi girl, against his brother's
advice, and gone to see her a few times, she grovelled at his
feet and told him she was all alone in the world, and would
die if he didn't love her. He's just young enough and romantic
enough to be caught in that way!"</p>
<p>"He's no boy. He must be nearly thirty."</p>
<p>"All nice, normal men are boys until after thirty. Lady
Peggy's new name for this poor child is the Martyr Knight."</p>
<p>"St. Stephen the Second is the last thing I heard. Stephen
the First was a martyr too, wasn't he? Stoned to death or
something."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"I believe so," hastily returned the lady, who was not learned
in martyrology. "He will be stoned, too, if he tries to force
Miss Lorenzi on his family, or even on his friends. He'll find
that he'll have to take her abroad."</p>
<p>"That might be a good working plan. Foreigners wouldn't
shudder at her accent. And she's certainly one of the most
gorgeously beautiful creatures I ever saw."</p>
<p>"Yes, that's just the right expression. Gorgeous. And—a
<i>creature</i>."</p>
<p>They both laughed, and fell to talking again of the interview.</p>
<p>Stephen Knight's ears were burning. He could not hear
any of the things people were saying; but he had a lively imagination,
and, always sensitive, he had grown morbidly so since
the beginning of the Northmorland-Lorenzi case, when all
the failings and eccentricities of the family had been reviewed
before the public eye, like a succession of cinematograph pictures.
It did not occur to Stephen that he was an object of
pity, but he felt that through his own folly and that of another,
he had become a kind of scarecrow, a figure of fun: and because
until now the world had laughed with instead of at him,
he would rather have faced a shower of bullets than a ripple
of ridicule.</p>
<p>"How do you do?" he inquired stiffly, and shook Miss
Lorenzi's hand as she gave it without rising from the pink
sofa. She gazed up at him with immense, yellowish brown
eyes, then fluttered her long black lashes in a way she had,
which was thrilling—the first time you saw it. But Stephen
had seen it often.</p>
<p>"I am glad you've come, my White Knight!" she said in
her contralto voice, which would have been charming but for
a crude accent. "I was so afraid you were cross."</p>
<p>"I'm not cross, only extremely ang—vexed if you really
did talk to that journalist fellow," Stephen answered, trying
not to speak sharply, and keeping his tone low. "Only, for<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></SPAN></span>
Heaven's sake, Margot, don't call me—what you did call me—anywhere,
but especially here, where we might as well be
on the stage of a theatre."</p>
<p>"Nobody can hear us," she defended herself. "You ought
to like that dear little name I made up because you came to
my rescue, and saved me from following my father—came
into my life as if you'd been a modern St. George. Calling
you my 'White Knight' shows you how I feel—how I appreciate
you and everything. If you just <i>would</i> realize that, you
couldn't scold me."</p>
<p>"I'm not scolding you," he said desperately. "But couldn't
you have stopped in your sitting-room—I suppose you have
one—and let me see you there? It's loathsome making a
show of ourselves——"</p>
<p>"I <i>haven't</i> a private sitting-room. It would have been too
extravagant," returned Miss Lorenzi. "Please sit down—by
me."</p>
<p>Stephen sat down, biting his lip. He must not begin to
lecture her, or even to ask why she had exchanged her quiet
lodgings for the Carlton Hotel, because if he once began, he
knew that he would be carried on to unsafe depths. Besides, he
was foolish enough to hate hurting a woman's feelings, even
when she most deserved to have them hurt.</p>
<p>"Very well. It can't be helped now. Let us talk," said
Stephen. "The first thing is, what to do with this newspaper
chap, if you didn't give him the interview——"</p>
<p>"Oh, I did give it—in a way," she admitted, looking rather
frightened, and very beautiful. "You mustn't do anything
to him. But—of course it was only because I thought it
would be better to tell him the truth. Surely it was?"</p>
<p>"Surely it wasn't. You oughtn't to have received him."</p>
<p>"Then do you mind so dreadfully having people know you've
asked me to marry you, and that I've said 'yes'?"</p>
<p>Margot Lorenzi's expression of pathetic reproach was
as effective as her eyelash play, when seen for the first<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></SPAN></span>
time, as Stephen knew to his sorrow. But he had seen the
one as often as the other.</p>
<p>"You must know I didn't mean anything of the sort.
Oh, Margot, if you don't understand, I'm afraid you're hopeless."</p>
<p>"If you speak like that to me, I shall simply end everything
as my father did," murmured the young woman, in a stifled,
breaking voice. But her eyes were blazing.</p>
<p>It almost burst from Stephen to order her not to threaten
him again, to tell her that he was sick of melodrama, sick to
the soul; but he kept silence. She was a passionate woman,
and perhaps in a moment of madness she might carry out her
threat. He had done a great deal to save her life—or, as he
thought, to save it. After going so far he must not fail now
in forbearance. And worse than having to live with beautiful,
dramatic Margot, would it be to live without her if she killed
herself because of him.</p>
<p>"Forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said when
he could control his voice.</p>
<p>She smiled. "No, of course you didn't. It was stupid
of me to fly out. I ought to know that you're always good.
But I <i>don't</i> see what harm the interview could do you, or me,
or any one. It lets all the world know how gloriously you've
made up to me for the loss of the case, and the loss of my father;
and how you came into my life just in time to save me from
killing myself, because I was utterly alone, defeated, without
money or hope."</p>
<p>She spoke with the curiously thrilling emphasis she knew
how to give her words sometimes, and Stephen could not help
thinking she did credit to her training. She had been preparing
for the stage in Canada, the country of the Lorenzis'
adoption, before her father brought her to England, whither he
came with a flourish of trumpets to contest Lord Northmorland's
rights to the title.</p>
<p>"The world knew too much about our affairs already,"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></SPAN></span>
Stephen said aloud. "And when you wished our engagement
to be announced in <i>The Morning Post</i>, I had it put in at once.
Wasn't that enough?"</p>
<p>"Every one in the world doesn't read <i>The Morning Post</i>.
But I should think every one in the world has read that interview,
or will soon," retorted Margot. "It appeared only
yesterday morning, and was copied in all the evening papers;
in this morning's ones too; and they say it's been cabled word
for word to the big Canadian and American dailies."</p>
<p>Stephen had his gloves in his hand, and he tore a slit across
the palm of one, without knowing it. But Margot saw. He
was thinking of the heading in big black print at the top of the
interview: "Romantic Climax to the Northmorland-Lorenzi
Case. Only Brother of Lord Northmorland to Marry the
Daughter of Dead Canadian Claimant. Wedding Bells Relieve
Note of Tragedy."</p>
<p>"We've nothing to be ashamed of—everything to be proud
of," Miss Lorenzi went on. "You, of your own noble behaviour
to me, which, as I said to the reporter, must be making
my poor father happy in another world. Me, because I have
won You, <i>far</i> more than because some day I shall have gained
all that father failed to win for me and himself. His heart was
broken, and he took his own life. My heart would have been
broken too, and but for you I——"</p>
<p>"Don't, please," Stephen broke in. "We won't talk any
more about the interview. I'd like to forget it. I should
have called here yesterday, as I wired in answer to your telegram
saying you were at the Carlton, but being at my brother's
place in Cumberland, I couldn't get back till——"</p>
<p>"Oh, I understand," Margot cut in. Then she laughed a
sly little laugh. "I think I understand too why you went to
Cumberland. Now tell me. Confession's good for the soul.
Didn't your brother wire for you the minute he saw that announcement
in <i>The Morning Post</i>, day before yesterday?"</p>
<p>"He did wire. Or rather the Duchess did, asking me to<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></SPAN></span>
go at once to Cumberland, on important business. I found
your telegram, forwarded from my flat, when I got to Northmorland
Hall. If I'd known you were moving, I wouldn't
have gone till to-day."</p>
<p>"You mean, dear, you wouldn't have let me move? Now,
do you think there's any harm in a girl of my age being alone
in a hotel? If you do, it's dreadfully old-fashioned of you.
I'm twenty-four."</p>
<p>During the progress of the case, it had been mentioned in
court that the claimant's daughter was twenty-nine (exactly
Stephen Knight's age); but Margot ignored this unfortunate
slip, and hoped that Stephen and others had forgotten.</p>
<p>"No actual harm. But in the circumstances, why be conspicuous?
Weren't you comfortable with Mrs. Middleton?
She seemed a miraculously nice old body for a lodging-house
keeper, and fussed over you no end——"</p>
<p>"It was for your sake that I wanted to be in a good hotel, now
our engagement has been announced," explained Miss Lorenzi.
"I didn't think it suitable for the Honourable Stephen Knight's
future wife to go on living in stuffy lodgings. And as you've
insisted on my accepting an income of eighty pounds a month
till we're married, I'm able to afford a little luxury, dearest.
I can tell you it's a pleasure, after all I've suffered!—and I
felt I owed you something in return for your generosity. I
wanted your <i>fiancée</i> to do you credit in the eyes of the world."</p>
<p>Stephen bit his lip. "I see," he said slowly.</p>
<p>Yet what he saw most clearly was a very different picture.
Margot as she had seemed the day he met her first, in the despised
South Kensington lodgings, whither he had been implored
to come in haste, if he wished to save a wretched, starving girl
from following her father out of a cruel world. Of course, he
had seen her in court, and had reluctantly encountered her
photograph several times before he had given up looking at
illustrated papers for fear of what he might find in them. But
Margot's tragic beauty, as presented by photographers, or as<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></SPAN></span>
seen from a distance, loyally seated at the claimant's side,
was as nothing to the dark splendour of her despair when the
claimant was in his new-made grave. It was the day after the
burial that she had sent for Stephen; and her letter had arrived,
as it happened, when he was thinking of the girl, wondering
whether she had friends who would stand by her, or whether
a member of his family might, without being guilty of bad
taste, dare offer help.</p>
<p>Her tear-blotted letter had settled that doubt, and it had
been so despairing, so suggestive of frenzy in its wording,
that Stephen had impulsively rushed off to South Kensington
at once, without stopping to think whether it would not be
better to send a representative combining the gentleness of the
dove with the wisdom of the serpent, and armed for emergencies
with a blank cheque.</p>
<p>Margot's hair, so charmingly dressed now, folding in soft
dark waves on either side her face, almost hiding the pink-tipped
ears, had been tumbled, that gloomy afternoon six
weeks ago, with curls escaping here and there; and in the
course of their talk a great coil had fallen down over her shoulders.
It was the sort of thing that happens to the heroine
of a melodrama, if she has plenty of hair; but Stephen did not
think of that then. He thought of nothing except his sympathy
for a beautiful girl brought, through no fault of her own, to the
verge of starvation and despair, and of how he could best set
about helping her.</p>
<p>She had not even money enough to buy mourning. Lorenzi
had left debts which she could not pay. She had no friends.
She did not know what was to become of her. She had not
slept for many nights. She had made up her mind to die as
her father had died, because it seemed the only thing to do,
when suddenly the thought of Stephen had flashed into her
mind, as if sent there by her guardian angel. She had heard
that he was good and charitable to everybody, and once she
had seen him looking at her kindly, in court, as if he were sorry<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></SPAN></span>
for her, and could read something of what was in her heart.
She had imagined it perhaps. But would he forgive her for
writing to him? Would he help her, and save her life?</p>
<p>Any one who knew Stephen could have prophesied what his
answer would be. He had hated it when she snatched his hand
to kiss at the end of their interview; but he would scarcely
have been a human young man if he had not felt a sudden tingle
of the blood at the touch of such lips as Margot Lorenzi's.
Never had she seemed so beautiful to him since that first day;
but he had called again and again, against his brother's urgent
advice (when he had confessed the first visit); and the story
that the Duchess of Amidon was telling her friends, though
founded entirely on her own imagination of the scene which had
brought about Stephen's undoing, was not very far from the truth.</p>
<p>Now, he saw a picture of Margot as he had seen her in the
lodgings she hated; and he wished to heaven that he might
think of her as he had thought of her then.</p>
<p>"I've got something important to say to you," the girl went on,
when she realized that Stephen intended to dismiss the subject
of the hotel, as he had dismissed the subject of the interview.
"That's the reason I wired. But I won't speak a word till
you've told me what your brother and the Duchess of Amidon
think about you and me."</p>
<p>"There's nothing to tell," Stephen answered almost sullenly.
And indeed there was no news of his Cumberland visit which it
would be pleasant or wise to retail.</p>
<p>Margot Lorenzi's complexion was not one of her greatest
beauties. It was slightly sallow, so she made artistic use of
a white cosmetic, which gave her skin the clearness of a camellia
petal. But she had been putting on rather more than usual
since her father's death, because it was suitable as well as
becoming to be pale when one was in deep mourning. Consequently
Margot could not turn perceptibly whiter, but she
felt the blood go ebbing away from her face back upon
her heart.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Stephen! Don't they mean to receive me, when we're
married?" she stammered.</p>
<p>"I don't think they've much use for either of us," Stephen
hedged, to save her feelings. "Northmorland and I have never
been great pals, you know. He's twenty years older than I
am; and since he married the Duchess of Amidon——"</p>
<p>"And her money! Oh, it's no use beating about the bush.
I hate them both. Lord Northmorland has a fiendish, vindictive
nature."</p>
<p>"Come, you mustn't say that, Margot. He has nothing of
the sort. He's a curious mixture. A man of the world, and
a bit of a Puritan——"</p>
<p>"So are you a Puritan, at heart," she broke in.</p>
<p>Stephen laughed. "No one ever accused me of Puritanism
before."</p>
<p>"Maybe you've never shown any one else that side of you,
as you show it to me. You're always being shocked at what I
do and say."</p>
<p>For that, it was hardly necessary to be a Puritan. But
Stephen shrugged his shoulders instead of answering.</p>
<p>"Your brother is a cold-hearted tyrant, and his wife is a
snob. If she weren't, she wouldn't hang on to her duchess-hood
after marrying again. It would be good enough for <i>me</i> to
call myself Lady Northmorland, and I hope I shall some day."</p>
<p>Stephen's sensitive nostrils quivered. He understood in
that moment how a man might actually wish to strike a nagging
virago of a woman, no matter how beautiful. And he wondered
with a sickening heaviness of heart how he was to go on
with the wretched business of his engagement. But he pushed
the question out of his mind, fiercely. He was in for this
thing now. He <i>must</i> go on.</p>
<p>"Let all that alone, won't you?" he said, in a well-controlled
tone.</p>
<p>"I can't," Margot exclaimed. "I hate your brother. He
killed my father."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Because he defended the honour of our grandfather, and
upheld his own rights, when Mr. Lorenzi came to England to
dispute them?"</p>
<p>"Who knows if they <i>were</i> his rights, or my father's? My
father believed they were his, or he wouldn't have crossed the
ocean and spent all his money in the hope of stepping into
your brother's shoes."</p>
<p>There were those—and Lord Northmorland and the
Duchess of Amidon were among them—who did not admit
that Lorenzi had believed in his "rights." And as for the money
he had spent in trying to establish a legal claim to the Northmorland
title and estates, it had not been his own, but lent him
by people he had hypnotized with his plausible eloquence.</p>
<p>"That question was decided in court——"</p>
<p>"It would be harder for a foreigner to get an English nobleman's
title away than for a camel to go through the eye of
the tiniest needle in the world. But never mind. All that's
buried in his grave, and you're giving me everything father
wanted me to have. I wish I could keep my horrid temper
better in hand, and I'd never make you look so cross. But I
inherited my emotional nature from Margherita Lorenzi, I
suppose. What can you expect of a girl who had an Italian
prima donna for a grandmother? And I oughtn't to quarrel
with the fair Margherita for leaving me her temper, since she
left me her face too, and I'm fairly well satisfied with that.
Everybody says I'm the image of my grandmother. And you
ought to know, after seeing her picture in dozens of illustrated
papers, as well as in that pamphlet poor father published."</p>
<p>"If you want me to tell you that you are one of the handsomest
women who ever lived, I'll do so at once," said Stephen.</p>
<p>Margot smiled. "You really mean it?"</p>
<p>"There couldn't be two opinions on that subject."</p>
<p>"Then, if you think I'm so beautiful, don't let your brother
and his snobbish Duchess spoil my life."</p>
<p>"They can't spoil it."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Yes, they can. They can keep me from being a success
in their set, your set—the <i>only</i> set."</p>
<p>"Perhaps they can do that. But England isn't the only
country, anyhow. I've been thinking that when—by and
by—we might take a long trip round the world——"</p>
<p>"<i>Hang</i> the world! England's my world. I've always
looked forward to England, ever since I was a little thing,
before mamma died, and I used to hear father repeating the
romantic family story—how, if he could only find his mother's
letters that she'd tried to tell him about when she was dying,
perhaps he might make a legal claim to a title and a fortune.
He used to turn to me and say: 'Maybe you'll be a great lady
when you grow up, Margot, and I shall be an English viscount.'
Then, when he did find the letters, behind the secret
partition in grandmother's big old-fashioned sandal-wood fan-box,
of which you've heard so much——"</p>
<p>"Too much, please, Margot."</p>
<p>"I <i>beg</i> your pardon! But anyway, you see why I want to
live in England. My life and soul are bound up in my success
here. And I could have a success. You know I could. I
am beautiful. I haven't seen any woman whose face I'd change
for mine. I won't be cheated out of my happiness——"</p>
<p>"Very well, we'll live in England, then. That's settled,"
said Stephen, hastily. "And you shall have all the success,
all the happiness, that I can possibly give you. But we shall
have to get on without any help from my brother and sister-in-law,
and perhaps without a good many other people you might
like to have for friends. It may seem hard, but you must make
up your mind to it, Margot. Luckily, there'll be enough money
to do pleasant things with; and people don't matter so immensely,
once you've got used to——"</p>
<p>"They do, they do! The right people. I <i>shall</i> know them."</p>
<p>"You must have patience. Everybody is rather tired of
our names just now. Things may change some day. I'm
ready to begin the experiment whenever you are."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"You are a dear," said Margot. And Stephen did not
even shiver. "That brings me to what I had to tell you.
It's this: after all, we can't be married quite as soon as we
expected."</p>
<p>"Can't we?" he echoed the words blankly. Was this to
be a reprieve? But he was not sure that he wanted a reprieve.
He thought, the sooner the plunge was made, the better, maybe.
Looking forward to it had become almost unbearable.</p>
<p>"No, I <i>must</i> run over to Canada first, Stephen. I've
just begun to see that. You might say, I could go there with
you after we were married, but it wouldn't be the same thing
at all. I ought to stay with some of my old friends while I'm
still Margot Lorenzi. A lot of people were awfully good to
father, and I must show my gratitude. The sooner I sail the
better, now the news of our engagement has got ahead of me.
I needn't stop away very long. Seven or eight weeks—or
nine at most, going and coming."</p>
<p>"Would you like to be married in Canada?" Stephen asked;
perhaps partly to please her, but probably more to disguise
the fact that he had no impatient objections to raise against
her plan. "If you wished, I could go whenever——"</p>
<p>"Oh no, no!" she exclaimed quickly. "I wouldn't have
you come there for anything in the world. That is. I mean——"
she corrected herself with an anxious, almost frightened side
glance at him—"I must fight it out alone. No, I don't
mean that either. What a stupid way of putting it! But it
would bore you dreadfully to take such a journey, and it would
be nicer anyhow to be married in England—perhaps at St.
George's. That used to be my dream, when I was a romantic
little girl, and loved to stuff my head full of English novels. I
should adore a wedding at St. George's. And oh, Stephen,
you won't change your mind while I'm gone? It would kill
me if you jilted me after all. I shouldn't live a single day, if
you weren't true."</p>
<p>"Don't talk nonsense, my dear girl. Of course I'm not<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></SPAN></span>
going to change my mind," said Stephen. "When do you
want to sail?"</p>
<p>"The end of this week. You're sure you won't let your
brother and that cruel Duchess talk you over? I——"</p>
<p>"There's not the slightest chance of their talking to me at
all," Stephen answered sharply. "We've definitely quarrelled."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></SPAN></span></p>
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