AT last, Mr. Romaine was conquered by pain, and rose to leave the Chessinghams' rooms about ten o'clock. As he said good-night, some strange impulse made him take Ethel's soft, white hand in his, which was deathly cold and clammy. He looked at her in her fresh, wholesome beauty. He knew she was just as designing in her own way as Madame de Fonblanque—but the designing was different in the two women, according to their race. Ethel's was the peculiarly artless and primitive designing, which is as near as the English character can come to deception—for it really deceives nobody. Madame de Fonblanque's was the consummate designing of the Latin races, which could deceive almost anybody. At that very moment she was completely hoodwinking the people at Corbin Hall, and Letty, who
had been disgusted with Ethel's transparent
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