only a ghost—the ghost of a happiness that might have been. And here by her side was a happiness that was. And ahead of her, in the shape of Trant, was a means of passing excitement. She worked herself into a reckless mood. Why should she not amuse herself with Trant? He was fairly warned. "Let us shuffle cards, Frank," she said. "We have been too much like Darby and Joan lately, and it isn't time for that yet. Go and flirt with Rose Garfit, and I will flirt with Mr. Trant."
She laughed with something of her old spirit, and Frank was not displeased, but rather welcomed the sally, as a sign that Elsie was becoming herself again. He was not jealous of Trant.
So Elsie called Trant to her, on some woman's pretext, and Frank dropped back to Hose Garfit. Trant was in an odd mood, too. He did not seem disposed for pleasantry. His manner suggested to Elsie the "villain of the piece," and so she told him, laughing.
"Well," he answered, a little grimly, "perhaps. Perhaps I may turn into the hero of the piece. We are only at the beginning of the play, you know, Miss Valliant."
"Oh, no," she said, "we are getting to the end. The play is nearly played out, for me at least. I am to be married in a month, Mr. Trant; and we are going to Tasmania for our honeymoon."
"Is that settled?" he asked.
"It was settled yesterday," she replied. She looked up from her horse's mane, with which her whip had been toying. His big black eyes were fixed on her with such a fierce, devouring kind of gaze, that the girl was startled and shrank.
"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that," she said. "Why do you look at me so wildly?"
"Because I am wild with love of you," he said. "It maddens me to think of you the wife of another man. I can't stand it, and I will not stand it." He did not speak for a moment or two, then exclaimed impetuously, "You are right, the play is nearly played out, for me as well as for
