"Lauraine jealous?" exclaims Sir Francis. "What put that idea in your head?"
"She herself," answers Lady Jean. "She says for the future she will not be so neglectful of you. She is afraid she left you too much alone. Is not that charming news? Does it not arouse very sweet emotions?"
"Don't talk folly, Jean," mutters Sir Francis savagely. "You know, or ought to know, how much I care for Lauraine. A poor, weak, milk-and-water creature. Heavens! how could I have ever fancied myself in love with her?"
"But you were, you know," says Lady Jean calmly. "Only, like all men, you deny it when your fickle fancy changes. It is always the last who is the only real love."
"I know well enough who is my real love, last or first," he says hoarsely; and his eyes flash bold, ardent admiration at her, under the drooping foliage of the trees.
"Hush!" she whispers, and with a warning glance around. "You must not say such words—in public!"
CHAPTER XIX
We whisper, and hint, and chuckle,
And grin at a brother's shame.
Lauraine sees no more of Keith during the next week, but she hears from Mrs. Woollffe that he has gone to the Black Forest.