Celeste he knew. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. There was also a curious interview at a big hotel with a middle-aged, white-powdered woman, all covered with jewels and reeking of scent, who wanted a Companion. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. Take your case, for instance. "And when I further tell you," continued Jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested.
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