but David had his own reasons, and she would not.

“Do you stay long in England?”

“I am going to-morrow. Oh!” she exclaimed, as they stepped out, and she saw the number of elaborately dressed guests moving about and gayly chatting and laughing. “I can’t go out there. I am a strangah.” It was a low melancholy wail as she said it, and long afterward Lady Thryng remembered that moaning cry, “I am a strangah.”

“No, no. You are an American and a very beautiful one. Come, they will be glad to meet you. Give me your name again.”

“Thank you — but I must — must go back.” Suddenly, with a cry, “My baby, he is mine,” she swept