round another's. She hated the country and she loved London. 'Once when, for his own purposes, the Colonel had let Cragfoot for a year and had lived in London, she had wept all the day and bemoaned herself all the night for hatred of Blandford Square and desire to be again at Cragfoot. When Sydney was born she refused to be comforted because he was a boy and not a girl; had he been a girl she would have held herself accursed in that nature had denied her a man-child. Whatever was was wrong with poor Mrs. Lowe, the root and heart of whose misfortunes was-her husband, grafted on to a chronic disturbance of her digestion, and energies reduced thereby to zero.

While they were sitting with her, Patricia wondering why she was so melancholy yet pitying her so much-and Dora with her smiles, her downcast eyes and air of lovely amiability, doing all she knew to charm Sydney's mother; and not succeeding-Mrs. Lowe being sharper than she looked the door opened, and the Colonel and his son walked in.

The former was debonair, handsome, haggard, insolent as usual; the gentleman's insolence, united with a perfect manner, a pure accent, and a charming voice: the latter pale, with that look of evil resolution about his thin lips and the fire in his dark eyes which those who knew had learnt to dread. He had made up his mind what to do, and he came prepared to act out his resolve.

Scarcely greeting the rest of the company, he made his way straight to Dora sitting on the ottoman throwing flies of fascination for Mrs. Lowe, and shook hands with her in a familiar, half-tender and half-defying manner, which went like an electric shock through the room. Mrs. Hamley saw it and Mr. Hamley saw it; the Lowes saw it; and even Patricia's unsuspicious nature was enlightened with the rest. Each made his or her comment on what she or he saw, and all looked at Dora, to see how she would bear herself, and whether she would repel or encourage such an audacious advance.

She blushed for her first reply, and her eyes dropped for her second. She was frightened, not pleased; and wished that Sydney had not shown his hand so clearly, nor drawn her into the fray. She would have infinitely preferred that he should have gone into the battle alone for there was a battle to be fought, and a hard one-and have only called her in to share the victory when he had won it. But the ordeal had to be passed; and it behoved her to be careful of her way among the ploughshares. One false step, and the whole thing would be over for her! And the first step she made was to answer the young man's daring address with her own dexterous power of conciliation; not angering him by her coldness nor the others by her warmth, but just accepting quietly what she could not disclaim, and making herself a party to no policy but the policy of peace. She was set between opposing fires, and she dodged gracefully.

"What a clever little baggage!" said the Colonel to himself, as he read her with an accuracy of observation to be got only from a certain class of men who have studied in a certain school of women. "For all her softness that girl has the go of the devil in her! And this thing-what is she like?"

He turned his handsome, haggard face to the fresh and innocent one framed in its loose waves of brown hair watching Dora anxiously; and from that moment the two girls were stereotyped in his mind as Brinvilliers and Joan of Arc.

The Cragfoot drawing-room opened into a conservatory.

"Have you seen our ferns ?" Sydney asked abruptly, speaking to Dora without prefix or annex.

"No," answered Dora, with the sweetest air of modest unconsciousness.

This was another ploughshare dexterously avoided by the clever little feet, which understood wary walking.

"Come with me; I want to show you my maidenhair," said Sydney, looking full at the sunny little fringe meandering tendril-like about her temples.

The anonymity of his address was not lost on his hearers; and Mr. Hamley's face was a study that had its lessons for those who cared to read.

"We have a great beauty at home," said Dora simply.

Sydney laughed. "I know that," he said, still looking at her feathery curls; "but I will back mine against any other person's. Come and see it.”

He stood up and offered her his hand, and for politeness she could not refuse her own.

With a well-managed look of appeal to Mrs. Hamley, taking in Mrs. Hamley's husband by the way, she laid her dainty little closegloved hand in his as she slowly rose from her seat. He drew it within his arm, and carried her off to the conservatory; speaking to her in a low voice and bending his face near to hers, as they walked across the room in this rather unusual fashion of going for two young people in an ordinary drawing-room filled with ordinary gentlemen and ladies. It was all done, however, more defiantly than tenderlya challenge rather than a caress.

“Oh, do be careful, Syd!" said Dora in a frightened whisper over the maidenhair.

“No, Dora, I will not. I am going to bring things to a head,” said Sydney. "I swear this shall not go on any longer. It shall be one thing or the other."

He spoke fiercely, like a flame of fire translated into words.

"It is one thing already, dear," said Dora with one of her most enchanting looks.

"If you look like that you will drive me wild! You know I cannot stand those eyes of yours, Dora!" cried Sydney.

"You silly boy!" lisped Dora, casting down her eyes and looking up from under her brows with the prettiest, most coquettish modesty. "I will not look at you at all then! Will that be right ?"

"No, Dody; I should go mad then," said Sydney, with his hand on hers.

"Poor thing!-you are in a bad way!" she laughed. "Why, what will please you?"

"Not your ridicule, Dora !" he answered savagely.

He had a tindery kind of temper, whereon sparks were never wanting; the irritable temper of a selfish man who holds that the world and all within it were created for his pleasure, and who refuses to take his share of any of the disagreeables that may be afloat.

"Play is not ridicule, dear," said Dora gently. "You ought to know by now, Syd, that I would do nothing in the world to vex you."

But though she spoke with such delicious patience, in her own mind surged up the same contemptuous feeling that she had for Mr. and Mrs. Hamley when she obeyed, soothed, and tricked them. To her, inwardly so strong, outwardly so yielding, the men and women whom she managed were little better than children whom she deceived for their own good, while allowing them to consider themselves supreme.

"And nothing to please me," Sydney answered, his face darkening. "Temporise, temporise, wait, do nothing; that is your policy, Dora, and I am sick of it!"

"You will ruin us both if you do not follow it," said Dora earnestly. "Cannot you see, Syd, that we must have your father's consent before we can make a move? What would become of us if he refused as well as Mr. Hamley? I know that Mr. Hamley will refuse; but if Colonel Lowe consents we are independent.'

"And why the devil should Mr. Hamley refuse?" cried Sydney in a rage.

Dora looked meek. "I am sure I don't know," she said; "unless he does not like parting with his money."

"Well, Dora, whatever happens I have made up my mind. I will speak to my father to-night and to Mr. Hamley to-morrow."

"Not to Mr. Hamley unless your father consents," she pleaded. "We shall be no nearer if you do-only farther off than before." "Then what do you propose, Dora?" asked Sydney insolently. "Patience, dear," said Dora, raising her pretty eyes. "Patience

and enough to cat; not impatience and starvation."

"If you two young people have concluded with examining the flowers we will proceed," said Mr. Hamley behind them.

He spoke in his finest accent and with his deepest voice; and Dora

"If you look like that you will drive me wild! You know I cannot stand those eyes of yours, Dora!" cried Sydney.

"You silly boy!" lisped Dora, casting down her eyes and looking up from under her brows with the prettiest, most coquettish modesty. "I will not look at you at all then! Will that be right ?"

66

66

hers.

No, Dody; I should go mad then," said Sydney, with his hand on

"Poor thing!-you are in a bad way!" she laughed. will please you?"

"Not your ridicule, Dora !" he answered savagely.

66

Why, what

He had a tindery kind of temper, whereon sparks were never wanting; the irritable temper of a selfish man who holds that the world and all within it were created for his pleasure, and who refuses to take his share of any of the disagreeables that may be afloat.

"Play is not ridicule, dear," said Dora gently. "You ought to know by now, Syd, that I would do nothing in the world to vex you." But though she spoke with such delicious patience, in her own mind surged up the same contemptuous feeling that she had for Mr. and Mrs. Hamley when she obeyed, soothed, and tricked them. To her, inwardly so strong, outwardly so yielding, the men and women whom she managed were little better than children whom she deceived for their own good, while allowing them to consider themselves supreme.

"And nothing to please me," Sydney answered, his face darkening. "Temporise, temporise, wait, do nothing; that is your policy, Dora, and I am sick of it!"

"You will ruin us both if you do not follow it," said Dora earnestly. "Cannot you see, Syd, that we must have your father's consent before we can make a move? What would become of us if he refused as well as Mr. Hamley? I know that Mr. Hamley will refuse; but if Colonel Lowe consents we are independent."

"And why the devil should Mr. Hamley refuse ?" cried Sydney in