He came round the table, and, as the girl obeyed her mother, took the letter from her fingers and hastily glanced over it.
Mrs.Armour came forward and took her daughter's arm.

"Marion," she said, "there is something wrong--with Frank.

What is it ?" General Armour was now looking up at them all, curiously, questioningly, through his glasses, his paper laid down, his hands resting on the table.
Marion could not answer.

She was sick with regret, vexation, and shame; at the first flush, death--for Frank--had been preferable to this.

She had a considerable store of vanity; she was not very philosophical.
Besides, she was not married; and what Captain Vidall, her devoted admirer and possible husband, would think of this heathenish alliance was not a cheer ful thought to her.