"Is there another?" in despair.

"Once upon a time, Donald, there was. There is nothing now but ashes. I am

telling you this so that it will not be so hard for you to return to the

old friendly footing. You are a brave man. Any man is who takes his heart

in his hand and offers it to a woman. You are going to take my hand and

promise to be my friend always."

"Ah, Nora!"

"You mustn't, Donald. I can't return to the ballroom with my eyes red. You

will never know how a woman on the stage has to fight to earn her bread.

And that part is only a skirmish compared to the ceaseless war men wage

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against her. She has only the fortifications of her wit and her presence

of mind. Was I not abducted in the heart of Paris? And but for the

cowardice of the man, who knows what might have happened? If I have

beauty, God gave it to me to wear, and wear it I will. My father, the

padre, you and the Barone; I would not trust any other men living. I am

often unhappy, but I do not inflict this unhappiness on others. Be you the

same. Be my friend; be brave and fight it out of your heart." Quickly she

drew his head toward her and lightly kissed the forehead. "There! Ah,

Donald, I very much need a friend."

"All right, Nora," bravely indeed, for the pain in his young heart cried

out for the ends of the earth in which to hide. "All right! I'm young;

maybe I'll get over it in time. Always count on me. You wouldn't mind

going back to the ballroom alone, would you? I've got an idea I'd like to

smoke over it. No, I'll take you to the end of the conservatory and come

back. I can't face the rest of them just now."

Nora had hoped against hope that it was only infatuation, but in the last

few days she could not ignore the truth that he really loved her. She had

thrown him and Celeste together in vain. Poor Celeste, poor lovely

Celeste, who wore her heart upon her sleeve, patent to all eyes save

Donald's! Thus, it was with defined purpose that she had lured him this

night into the garden. She wanted to disillusion him.

The Barone, glooming in an obscure corner of the conservatory, saw them

come in. Abbott's brave young face deceived him. At the door Abbott smiled

and bowed and returned to the garden. The Barone rose to follow him. He

had committed a theft of which he was genuinely sorry; and he was man

enough to seek his rival and apologize. But fate had chosen for him the

worst possible time. He had taken but a step forward, when a tableau

formed by the door, causing him to pause irresolutely.




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