"Oh, dad!" she cried and hid her face; there is one light in the eyes which none but a lover may see!

"Quite sure?" he persisted.

"Quite sure!" she said, softly.

"You're sure you're not jumping in the dark; it isn't the Prince you're in love with?"

"No, dad; it's the man. That seems an awfully bold thing for a girl to say, doesn't it? But he--he's such a nice fellow!"

"Yes, I believe he is," agreed her father.

"He's been telling me about himself, you know; about what he wants to do in the world," added Susie, looking up at him.

"Has he?" and her father laughed. "The same old game--effective as ever!

We all do it--why, I remember, Susie--"

He stopped suddenly, with a little tremor in his voice.

"Yes, dad," very softly.

She was leaning forward on his knee, looking up at him. He put his arm around her and drew her close.

"You're like your mother, Susie," was all he dared trust himself to say, his arms tight around her.

They sat so a moment, lost in memory, until a knock at the door brought Susie to her feet. A page handed in a little package.

"For Mademoiselle Rushford," he said.

"Thank you," said Susie, and closed the door. "For me?" she repeated, as she turned back into the room. "What do you suppose it is?"

"The quickest way to find out is to open it, my dear," suggested her father, drily.

Susie ripped the paper off in an instant, and disclosed a little book bound in flexible red leather.

"'Who's Who,'" she read, looking at the t.i.tle, and just then a card fell out. She stooped and picked it up. "Why, it's from that odious French detective! Listen, dad--'With the compliments of M. Andre Tellier, who is sure of Mademoiselle Rushford's grat.i.tude.'"

"Send it back to him," said her father. "Or here, give it to me--I'll go down and smash his face with it. I ought to have kicked him out of the house yesterday--I'd have done it but for Pelletan."

"Wait a minute, dad; here's a page turned down. Maybe there's something he wanted me to see. Oh, yes; it's about Lord Vernon--he meant the book for Nell--I'll call her," and she started toward the open door into the inner room.

"Wait," said her father, instantly. "What about Vernon? Read it."

She stopped, struck by the tone of his voice.

"What do you mean, dad?" she asked, paling a little. "Surely, you don't mean--"

"Read it," he repeated, sternly.

She opened the book with hands suddenly tremulous.

"'Vernon, fifth earl of (created 1703),'" she read, in a low voice.

"'George Henry Augustus Gardner, K. G., K. T., P. C., F. R. S., F. S.

A.; baronet 1628; Viscount Vernon, Baron Dalberry, 1710; Viscount Cranford, 1712; Baron Vernon, 1829; trustee of Imperial Inst.i.tute; born tenth of May, 1859; son of Lord Henry Augustus Gardner, M. P., son of fourth Earl and Mary, daughter of Richard Chaloner, Boston, U. S. A.; married, Catherine--'"

"Married!" cried her father, and then restrained himself, though his face turned crimson. "But go on--perhaps she's dead."

"No, she isn't dead!" said Sue, reading a line or two farther. Then she closed the book. "I don't understand," she said, dazedly. "I can't understand. He didn't seem that kind of man at all, dad!"

"No," said a hoa.r.s.e voice from the door. "No, he didn't."

"Nell! Nellie dear!" cried Sue, and in an instant her arms were about her.

"It--it doesn't matter," said Nell, steadying herself against the door, striving to still a sudden convulsive shuddering. "I was a f-fool to think he--he cared. Of course he--he was only amusing himself!" and then her self-control suddenly gave way, and her head fell forward upon her sister's shoulder. But only for a moment; that high queenliness was not on the surface, merely, but in the heart, as well. "I think I'm getting tired of Weet-sur-Mer, dad," she said, quite steadily, with a wan little smile. "I seem to be hungering for New York again; wouldn't you like to go home?"

"We'll go, of course, at once, dad," commanded Sue. "That's the only thing to do. Oh!" she cried, her eyes flashing, "I could murder such a man--cut him to pieces, inch by inch--and gloat over the deed!"

Rushford was very pale and his hands were trembling a little as he started for the door.

"Yes, I'll order the trunks packed," he said, incoherently. "I'll have to hurry--I'll try to--"

Something in his voice caught Susie's ear; she turned her head and looked at him.

"Dad!" she called.

He paused with his hand on the k.n.o.b.

"Dad, come here."

He came back reluctantly.

"We're to go away quietly, you know, without telling any one; there's to be no fuss--we couldn't bear that--"

A tap on the door interrupted her. Rushford opened it. A man stood without, a German with complexion like mahogany. He bowed silently and handed in a note. Rushford took it and closed the door.

"It's from Markeld," he said, looking at the crest; "thought he hadn't made his case quite emphatic enough, I guess," and he glanced at Susie's blushing face and smiled. "Of course, we'll have to tell him," he added, as he tore open the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper it contained. "He has a sort of right--"

He stopped.

Susie saw his face turn gray again.... A great fear fell upon her heart--a cold, still fear that gripped her and left her shivering.

"What is it, dad?" she asked quietly, through clenched teeth.

"Nothing," answered her father, looking at her vaguely. "It's nothing.

It's--it's merely a matter of business, Susie."

"Come, dad," she said, still quietly, "don't try to deceive me. Tell me--no matter what it is, I can bear it. Do you think I haven't any pluck, dad?"

"Yes, I know you've got pluck, Susie," he said. "We've simply made a mistake, my dear, in believing these blackguards honourable men. Let's think no more about them."