"She is his cousin."

"So are you."

"My dear, I am not married."

"More shame on you," says t.i.ta, with the ghost of a smile. "Well, there was Miss Gower!"

"She is not married, either."

"And no shame to anyone." Here t.i.ta, in spite of her wrath, cannot help laughing. "But really, Margaret, the blame should not be entirely on my side. If I have to accuse Maurice----"

"Accuse him! Of what?"

t.i.ta looks full at her.

"You are a good friend," says she; "but his mother told me."

CHAPTER III.

HOW MR. GOWER GROWS DARKLY MYSTERIOUS; AND HOW t.i.tA HEARS OF THE ARRIVAL OF ANOTHER GUEST.

t.i.ta, going down the stairs after her interview with Margaret, meets Randal in the hall below.

"You look rather down on your luck!" says he.

"My looks belie me, then," says she stoutly. "But you--what is the matter with you?"

"Ruin!" says Mr. Gower tragically. "My looks do _not_ belie me."

"Good gracious, Randal!"

"Ruin stares me in the face," says he, "look where I will."

"Very rude of it," says t.i.ta, with an irrepressible laugh. "One should never stare people out of countenance. You should speak to Ruin."

"Oh, it's all very fine making a joke of it!" says Mr. Gower, who is, however, laughing too.

"Where are you going now?" asks t.i.ta, as he moves away from her towards the hall door.

"'Anywhere--anywhere out of the world,'" quotes he, with a dismal shake of the head.

"Is it so serious as all that?" cries t.i.ta. "Look here, Randal, wait a moment, can't you? I have a last request to make. If you _are_ bent on dying, do it; but do it nicely--be picturesque: something original, and no blood. Promise me there will be no blood!"

"'So young, and so untender!'" says Gower, gazing at her with deep reproach.

He seems full of quotations.

"But where are you going, really?"

"Out."

He pauses.

"Not out of your mind, I hope?"

"Don't be too sure."

"Well, wait, and I'll go with you," says she, glancing at the stand in the hall where her garden hat is generally to be found.

"Not to-day," says Gower; "you mustn't come with me to-day. I'm going out on business."

"Business!"

Mr. Gower and business seem so very far apart.

"Gruesome business," repeats he, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"I'm going with my aunt--'my dear, unmarried aunt.' It's my last chance. I shall do or die to-day, or else"--an afterthought striking him--_"she_ will."

"Where are you going with her?"

"I am taking her," says Mr. Gower, looking darkly round him, "for a row on the lake. She says she dotes on lakes. I don't think she will dote on your lake when she returns, if"--with a murderous eye--"she ever does."

"Are you going to drown her?" asks t.i.ta, catching him by the arm.

She is laughing still.

"I hope not--I _hope_ not," says Gower gloomily. "Circ.u.mstances _may_ be favourable. We must pray for the best."

He tears himself away from her with a profound sigh, and she is still standing, laughing in the hall, when the library door opens, and Rylton comes into the hall.

Her laughter dies quickly. Rylton, after a swift, careless glance at her, goes towards the letter-rack and places a letter in it, then goes back to the library. As he reaches the door, however, he hears little running feet behind him.

"Don't go--don't go," says t.i.ta. She has laid one hand upon his arm, and is looking up at him. "You are angry with me, and----"

"Angry? No!"

"You are--you know you are! And you want to scold me, and----"

"You are quite mistaken," says Rylton, shaking off her hand gently, but with decision. "I have no desire whatever to scold you. Why should I?"

He goes past her into the library, but she follows him--a lovely little penitent--with lowered eyes.

"Do scold me!" says she. "I was wrong; and I did it on purpose, too."