"That is probably the reason why I did not get them."

"Why should he refuse to give them to you? I borrowed money from him but I repaid him before I left America."

He thought she was not acquainted with his perfidy. She would undeceive him.

"Did you tell him the truth when you borrowed it?"

His face flushed. How could she know? But she did. He would be honest with her.

"No, I did not."

"I knew it. My sister Maude recovered your coat, but there was no money or bills of exchange in your pocket book--only a few visiting cards bearing the name of Col. Arthur Spencer."

The young man bowed his head. He was guilty. She would leave him without another word. She turned to go. He caught her hand, which she, indignantly, withdrew from his grasp.

"I will explain, Miss Sawyer." Was he going to tell the truth, or invent another story?

"Arthur Spencer was the Colonel of the first regiment with which I was connected. I do not belong to it now. He is a poor man, and an inveterate gambler. I had not seen him for two years, when we met in New York just before I went to Boston. You are tired, Miss Sawyer."

He pointed to a seat beneath some palms, and led her, unresistingly, to it.

"He asked me to dinner with him, and I went. Then he suggested a game of cards while we smoked and I foolishly consented. The stakes, at first, were small, and he won rapidly. He increased his bets and I was forced, against my will, to meet them. When we stopped playing, he had not only won all my money, but had my 'I O U' for three hundred dollars. I had to borrow money from him to pay my hotel bill and fare to Boston."

Florence nodded. She could not speak.

"I had letters of introduction to Boston families--among them, your own.

When that accident happened--" she looked up at him inquiringly--

[Ill.u.s.tration: "You have acknowledged that you are a gambler]

"No, don't think that of me--it was not intentional on my part--I was without money--the Colonel must be paid--my allowance was not due for ten days--I invented the story that I told your father."

"It was a lie!" Florence choked as she uttered the accusing words.

"Yes, it was a lie, and one for which I have sincerely repented, I told my father, and he forgave me, but said, as the coat was gone, to let the matter drop, that nothing would be gained by confessing to your father as he had been paid, and had met with no loss."

Florence sprang to her feet. "No loss!" she cried. "How can you say that? You have acknowledged that you are a gambler and a liar--why not finish the story and confess your crime?"

"Crime, Florence! What do you mean?"

Her lips curled

"You do not know what I mean?"

"No, as G.o.d hears me, I do not. You accuse me--of what?"

She felt that the crux was reached. "Did you not know when the check for five hundred dollars came back to my father's bank that it had been raised to five thousand dollars?"

The Captain reeled, and came near falling. He clutched at the palm tree which sustained him until he regained his footing.

"My G.o.d! And you have thought me the thief!"

"What else could I think?"

"I can't understand.... I met Col. Spencer in Boston--those birds of prey always follow their victims, and gave him the check, receiving two hundred dollars in return. He must have--and yet I cannot believe he would do such a thing. He is in London now. To-morrow I will go and find him."

"But if he denies it--how can you prove him guilty?"

"Unless he frees my name from such a charge--I will challenge him--and kill him!"

Florence could no longer act as accuser. Her heart plead for the young Englishman who had confessed his error, but who so strenuously denied his partic.i.p.ation in a crime. "Miss Sawyer, will you mercifully suspend judgment until my return from London?"

She did not reply in words, but gave him her hand.

When they rejoined the company both Linda and Aunt Ella noticed Florence's heightened colour and the brightness of her eyes.

"He must have explained," said Linda, "when an occasion offered."

"I hope so," was Aunt Ella's reply, and she felicitated herself upon the success of their joint plot.

CHAPTER XIV

AN AMERICAN HEIRESS

For some time after rejoining the company, Florence was so busy with her thoughts that she paid little attention to what was going on about her.

She was aroused from her abstraction by a sharp voice:

"Don't you think Captain Hornaby is a very handsome young man?" Florence looked and found that her questioner was Lady Elfrida Hastings, the only sister of the Earl. When that lady had visited them at Nahant, she had considered her the embodiment of all the female virtues. She recalled her statuesque repose, and her aristocratic manner which had so pleased her father. She also remembered the morning when she was discovered by Maude practising the Lady Elfrida's poses, and her sister's inquiry as to whether she had a chill and wanted the quinine pills.

Feeling the necessity of saying something, she replied: "I haven't noticed him particularly."

The Lady Elfrida, perfect gentlewoman that she was, said severely, for her, "Your failure to do so, certainly was not due to lack of opportunity."

So, her long absence in his company had been noticed. She was at a loss for a reply, when to her great relief the Earl approached and asked if she would play a certain piece which he had admired very much when in America.

"What was its name?"

"I can't remember," said the Earl. "It ran something like this," and he hummed a few measures.

"Oh," cried Florence, "Old Folks at Home." The scene through which she had gone with the Captain had awakened deep emotions, and her voice was in the temperamental condition to give a sadly-weird effect to the lines of the chorus. When she sang

"Oh, my heart is sad and weary"

the Lady Elfrida turned to Mrs. Ellice, the Rector's wife, and remarked, "There was a rumour that Captain Hornaby was greatly interested in Miss Sawyer, but from something she told me to-night I do not think it will be a match."