CHAPTER XII.
"A wicked will, A woman's will; a cankered grandame's will!" _King John_.
"By Jove!" And Lorimer, after uttering this unmeaning exclamation, was silent out of sheer dismay.

He stood hesitating and looking in at the door of the Gueldmar's sitting-room, and the alarming spectacle he saw was the queenly Thelma down on the floor in an attitude of grief,--Thelma giving way to little smothered sobs of distress,--Thelma actually crying! He drew a long breath and stared, utterly bewildered.

It was a sight for which he was unprepared,--he was not accustomed to women's tears.

What should he do?
Should he cough gently to attract her attention, or should he retire on tip-toe and leave her to indulge her grief as long as she would, without making any attempt to console her?
The latter course seemed almost brutal, yet he was nearly deciding upon it, when a slight creak of the door against which he leaned, caused her to look up suddenly.

Seeing him, she rose quickly from her desponding position and faced him, her cheeks somewhat deeply flushed and her eyes glittering feverishly.
"Mr.Lorimer!" she exclaimed, forcing a faint smile to her quivering lips.