started as if a salvo of artillery had thundered over her head. They
had not heard him come. He had taken good care they should not.
"We have quite done," she said, looking at him shyly. "Mr. Lowe
was only showing me his ferns. Is it not a beauty, Mr. Hamley?"
she continued, passing her fingers across a miserable little specimen
which even Mr. Hamley, who knew nothing about flowers or ferns,
could see was not worth the pot in which it grew.

"If that is what you have been admiring I can't say much for your taste. It seems to me a heap of time wasted in looking at them weeds!" he said coarsely, passion warring against grammar, and grammar getting the worst of it; as it always did when he was excited.

"You cannot wonder at any one's forgetting how time goes in Miss Drummond's presence," said Sydney, gallantly as to manner, insolently as to intention, so far as Mr. Hamley was concerned.

Though it was a matter of vital importance to him as things stood to keep fair with Mr. Hamley, even to make him his friend if possible, he would not control himself to courtesy when the fit took him to be aggressive. And as the fit was on him now he indulged it. He hated Mr. Hamley, and he did not care to conceal it. He hated him partly because of his bad manners and his large means, but chiefly because Dora Drummond lived in his house-and he had power over her.

"Excuse me," said the master of Abbey Holme and Mr. Simpson's invisible client Jones, who had lent the money for which Cragfoot was mortgaged; "but if there is one thing more than another I think no gentleman should do, it is passing compliments on ladies when they are under another gentleman's protection."

"I was not aware that Miss Drummond was under any gentleman's protection-more than my own at this moment," said Sydney, looking at him straight in the eyes.

"Then I do," said Mr. Hamley, taking Dora's hand and pulling it roughly through his arm. "I am this young lady's protector, sir, and I wish the world to know as much."

"Miss Drummond must decide for herself," said Sydney, tossing up his curly head with an insolent laugh. "Which is it, Dora ?"

"Which is it'-what?" cried Mr. Hamley with a fierce scowl. "Can I believe my ears?"

66

That is just what Midas said," sneered Sydney.

Mr. Hamley let fall a thundering oath. "Is it come to this'Dora,' to you?" he said furiously. "Let me know what it all means, or by

"I am sure Mr. Lowe will apologize for his mistake; for he is not in the habit of calling me Dora;" said Dora, hurriedly interrupting the objurgation on its path. "I do not think you meant to offend either Mr. Hamley or myself, Mr. Lowe," she continued in her peace

making way, looking at Sydney and smiling for Mr. Hamley, whose arm she pressed tenderly and daintily. But she was treading heavily on the younger man's foot all the while; and Sydney understood pantomime.

"I certainly did not mean to offend you, Miss Drummond," he said half sullenly, half familiarly.

"Nor Mr. Hamley," put in Dora. And there was another grind of the small high heeled boot. "Mr. Hamley has been like my father all my life, and I owe him the love and obedience of a daughter." She looked prettily into his coarse, flushed face.

"Daughter be hanged!" said Mr. Hamley. "I hate rubbish, Dora, and you know it!"

"You surely do not mean to say that you regard Miss Drummond in any other light but that of a daughter!" flashed out Sydney.

"Mr. Lowe, sir, take my advice," said Mr. Hamley, measuring him with his eyes from head to foot, and mentally wringing his neck as he would have wrung any young cockerell's in his farm-yard: "take stock of your own goods and chattels, and leave another man's alone."

Sydney's face and eyes flamed. "I suppose you know the only interpretation to that?" he said. "As Miss Drummond is not your wife, if she is your 'chattel'

"What she is to me has nothing to do with you," interrupted Mr. Hamley. "Keep to your own side of the way, Mr. Lowe, and I'll keep to mine. There'll be mischief between us else, and I flatter myself I am a trifle the heavier metal!"

An imploring look from Dora checked the angry reply that rose to Sydney's lips. She liked it well enough that the two men should hate each other, and be held back from flying at each other's throats only by the force of conventionality, for her sake. She was of the order of woman to whom, though not personally cruel-quite the reverse -men fighting for her smiles was supreme honour and enjoyment. What they suffered in the conflict troubled her no more than it troubles the lioness who crouches, licking her lips and purring, waiting for the bleeding victor, whether it is the black lion or the tawny that lies dead under the forest trees. But too much was involved at this moment in the keeping of peace to allow her to posturise as a prize for which men did well to contend; so literally as well as morally she brought pressure to bear on Sydney, and being the wiser and the stronger, she conquered. He ground his teeth together, but he kept the torrent of words within them; and making that peculiar grimace which goes by the name of a "sardonic grin,' he turned to Dora, and said aloud in French," Ce soir, chérie?" as compensation.

"What's that?" cried Mr. Hamley angrily, "Who's a-talking foreign tongues here ?"

Sydney laughed unpleasantly. His laugh was naturally unpleasant.

"French," said Dora with her tender smile. "Soit!" with a look to Sydney; "it only means So be it.'"

"I think it deucedly ungentlemanly to talk your foreign lingo in society," Mr. Hamley answered, frowning. "Nowadays gentlemen do rum things, and where you'd look for manners most you find least. Now, Dora, come! We can't be here all day, and it's my belief we've been here too long already."

"Soit," repeated Sydney, taking the hint.

Spreading out both his hands, with two fingers bent inward, he made a meaningless pull at his coat.

Dora's hat needed adjusting. She put up her hand and pushed in a hairpin with her fore-finger. And the engagement stood for one o'clock that night; a meeting between them-where and how?

Then they all took their leave; and when they were gone the Colonel said, but not unkindly: "Syd, my boy, come with me to the library. We must have some serious talk, you and I."

CHAPTER XX.

EXPLANATIONS.

"SHUT the door and sit down; and now tell me-what does all this mean?" began the Colonel.

"What does all what mean, sir ?" answered Sydney evasively.

"Don't fence with me, Syd. We both understand each other so far. But what I do not understand is, your ultimate meaning-what you wish and what you intend."

"You are speaking in riddles this afternoon. If you will come to the point, I will meet you," said Sydney.

His father smiled. "You would have made a first-rate diplomatist," he said.

"I wish to heaven you had put me into the service, or done anything for me but keep me knocking about at home!" cried Sydney impatiently.

"You are ungrateful," was the Colonel's cool response. "Your idleness is your own doing, not mine. If parents are to be blamed for all the wrongheadedness of their sons, their score will be a pretty heavy one in these days of liberty and equality."

"Boys know Of what use are

"Who cares for what a boy wishes!" said Sydney. neither their own minds nor their best interests. fathers and mothers but to guide their decisions? You should not have listened to me, sir!"

"Perhaps not," said Colonel Lowe, playing with a paper-knife

carelessly. "But if I should not, you are not the person to tell me of it."

"And if not I, who then pray?" answered Sydney. "I suppose it is more my affair than any other person's if my whole life is ruined that you may have had a plaything!"

"Drop that, sir!" cried the Colonel, turning round on him with sudden fierceness. "You ought to know by now what I can bear and what I will not, even from you. However, I have brought you here to reason, not to wrangle," he continued more quietly; "and wrangling is caddish. Tell me, what are you proposing to yourself with respect to Miss Drummond ?"

"I don't know that I am proposing anything to myself with respect to Miss Drummond," answered Sydney sulkily.

"Then you are making a fool of her? All right I dare say, if a trifle cruel. She is probably worth nothing better at the hands of a gentleman-parvenues seldom are."

"Parvenue or not, she is worth more than all your Ladies and Honourables put together. Any man might be proud of Miss Drummond!" flashed out Sydney, falling headlong into the trap.

"All right on the other side," said the Colonel. making a fool of her ?"

"I am not," answered his son.

"In which case you are meditating an offer?" "I did not say so," he replied.

"Perhaps have already made it?"

"Neither did I say that," said Sydney.

"And you are not

"I am glad of your disclaimers, my dear boy. As things are with us, any intentions-of an honourable kind—with respect to Miss Drummond would be decidedly mal àpropos. For the rest, she must take care of herself."

"My dear father," said Sydney with an impertinent smile, " perhaps we shall come to a better understanding together if you will stick to facts and take nothing for granted. It is only women who jump to conclusions from insufficient premises."

"Thanks for the lesson in dialectics," said the Colonel. "Facts then it shall be and I will begin with one I would willingly have spared you. I, and you in consequence, are both ruined."

The craven spirit of the man went down. He turned as white as Dora might have done, and his very lips were pale.

"Ruined! you are surely joking, sir!" he gasped. "I wish I was," said the Colonel quietly.

"But what am I to do?" cried Sydney. Then, by the grace of an after-thought he added; "what are we all to do?"

"What you have to do is to marry money, by which we shall all profit," said the father.

VOL. XLI.

2 G

"All very well to say marry money," said Sydney looking at his nails. “That is sooner said than done.”

"Not at all: it is waiting for you. Julia Manley would jump at you. This I know for a fact; and she has money enough in all conscience-five thousand a year."

"A woman like a camel!-with sandy hair and freckles!" said Sydney in a tone of disgust.

"Golden hair, my boy, and beauty spots-with five thousand a year to gild them."

"Not to me, sir. She is hideous, and if she was Miss Kilmansegg herself she would be hideous all the same."

"Oh! after a year's marriage all women are pretty much alike," said his father: "excepting indeed that the odds are in favour of the plain ones. They wear the best and want less looking after in all ways. Five thousand a year will make Julia Manley's camel's face prettier than Dora Drummond's wax-doll beauty, with not five pence to give it consistency. You will see. You will see. A nice house and plenty of cash-and she will be quite handsome in your eyes before your heir is born. And good temper and habit will do the rest."

"All very well I dare say, if one entered into the thing quite free; but I had better confess it now-I am in love with Dora Drummond,” said Sydney with a burst.

"Of not the slightest consequence, my dear fellow. Many a man before yourself has loved one woman by inclination and married another by necessity. I have not the faintest objection to your loving Hamley's pretty little girl, but I bar the banns. Unless," he shrugged his shoulders and cut a sheet of paper carelessly, "you are prepared to turn into the world on your own account, without a halfpenny from me, present or to come."

"But why is Miss Drummond to be tabooed of all women?" said Sydney. "She is pretty, lady-like, well-bred, and I am fond of her; why is she to be thrust out into the cold ?"

Ι

"She is not tabooed; it is only her want of money that won't fit. Let Hamley give her only two thousand a year, and I say amen with all my heart. You see I rate her, as woman with woman, worth three thousand a year more than Julia Manley; which is ranking her high. But if, as I suspect, it is your pretty Dora and an empty purse, I say no, unless you have resources of which I know nothing."

"At least let me try," said Sydney dejectedly.

"Like Bruce's spider? By all means. And if you fail ?"

The young man was silent.

"Well! if you fail, what then, Syd?" his father repeated.

"I am sure I don't know," he answered sullenly.

"No? I do. Your decision will rest then between two alternatives

-marrying Julia Manley, or hopeless and irremediable ruin.”