A SORE TEMPTATION.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 29, 3 February 1900, Page 3 (Supplement)

A SORE TEMPTATION.

[Published by Special Arrangement.]

By JOHN K. LEYS

'Author of "In the Toils," "The Lindsays," "The Broken Fetter," "A MilJion of Money," "The Thumb-print,

[Copyright.]

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS . CHAPTEItS.

■ Chapters I, to lll.—Archie Lennox and Annie Estelle Campbell, almost girl and boy lovers on the banks of Loch Aline, though there is no engagement between them, are parting company, Miss Campbell leaving for London, accepting an offer to reside ■with her rich uncle. She is tired of the dull country life of Lochalinehead, and decides to leave her grandlather and aunt. As she is travelling, a dissipated-looking individual enters the carriage and frightens her by asking her whether her name_ was knnie Estelle Campbell. She is thankful when she is driven off in her uncle's brougham.

Chapters. IV. and V. —At the house of her uncle,. Colonel Marchant, Estelle meets Mrs St. Aubyn and her daughter Cynthia, who are jealous of her introduction to her uncle's home. She also meets a young man named Herbert Pullen, who asks her to go a row up the river. She consents, and on her return she is told that she had no right to place herself, in such a compromising position, and Colonel Marchant forbids him the house. When walking in the park, Esfelle meets the mysterious dissipated stranger, who tells her he has something- of a serious nature to communicate to her.

Chapters ' VI. and Vll.—The stranger tells Estelle that he is her father, that he has been unfortunate and dissipated, but that he had turned over a new leaf, and had got a home together for her. He asks her to" go to him,' but she declines, and he declares that he has nothing to live for,..1 and his ill-doing will be her responsibility. He then leaves her. He falls again into evil habits, but at last resolves to visit a Mr Cardale; at Cardale Grange, Yorkshire, and borrows a half sovereign from a boon companion. He then sets out on a tramp to Yorkshire.

CHAPTER VIII

A HARBOUR OF REFUGE.

The meanness of Mr Hitchcock proved to be a blessing in disguise. It was summer weather, and the hay was down; a bed in the long fragrant grass under a hedge was delicious. So there was nothing to pay for lodgings. As to food, Campbell lived chiefly upon bread, eked out by a little cheese and bacon. He would greatly have preferred oatmeal porridge and pease, brose, with which he had been familiar in his boyhood— the most strengthening vegetable food in the.world —but oatmeal porridge he could only get in the workiouse, and pease meal brose he could not get at .all,. so he Avas forced to live.-:almost, .entirely upon white bread.

The absence of variety in his food was the only hardship he experienced in the course of Ms long tramp northward. He took care to walk only a moderate distance—two spells of five miles each —a day, till his muscles were inured to the exercise. And he was amazed to find how his health improved, ■in spite of the monotony of his diet. Sleeping in the open he found to be particularly refreshing and invigorating.

Before he had gone fifty miles his .boots gave out, but _a kind-hearted -woman gave him a pair of her husband's, which lasted the rest of the way. For want of an overcoat he had recourse to a piece of old sacking, which he saw lying in an inn yard, and begged of the innkeeper. It served him both for mattress and blankets, and was a great success. .{To Ms astonishment he found that he was gaining flesh; the dregs of his long1 debaiich seemed to have cleared ,away; he was a better man, physically and morally, than he had been for years.. It was a delicious evening towards the end of summer when Hector Campbell climbed a rather steep rising ground, and seating himself on a gate—a habit he had contracted duringl his wanderings—surveyed the : scene in the valley beneath him. Harvest was here not quite so early as in the south, and was not yet over. .Some of the fields were yet standing .thick with, corn—others were in the yellow stubble —others were full of sheaves. "The golden lightning of ihe sunken sxin" shone fair upon them all, and lighted up the narrow windows of the village church, that 'stood among the' smaller buildings Me a hen with a brood of chickens.

, A short distance beyond the village stood'a house of larger size—too large and. too elaborate in its style of architecture to be a mere farmhouse, jet not nearly, fine enough to be the residence of the lord of the manor.

"What house is that, my lad—the ,hig house -with the_twisted chimiaeys?" Campbell asked of a boy who happened to be passing. ■■■■■"■TVGrange, of course," said the lad, after a pause of astonishment that there .should be anyone so ignorant as not to know Cardale Grange.

."Does Mr Cardfile live there?" "Ay!" . , .'• . Campbell got down from the gate and limped on; for though well and strong, he was.footsore and weary. Cardale Grange had been a fine place in its day, and it still bore evidence of the wealth and the taste of its owners of ■ past generations. A /wide; lawn stretched away from the house for a considerable distance on two of its sides, and on the third side a tall hedge .of holly effectually screened the sites of cowhouse and stable. The farm buildings were behind. ■■' Tall French windows, painted "white, opened upon.the lawn, and the staclcs of chimneys, picturesque gables, and overhanging eaves saved the house from looking commonplace. But there was little else that was pleasant, in the aspect of the Grange. Everywhere there were signs of neglect; ,The shrubs in the shrubbery that; surrounded the lawn were sadly *° need of pruning, being in some Places too thick, in others thin and draggling. The carriage drive was .frilL O f.,g rass . the fl ower border that skirted it on one side had been Joughly hoed and left so. The roses that clambered over the lower part *>t the -west wing waved great branch-

es^ in the air. The iron gate was red with rust; the paint everywhere was sun-blistered and faded.

Still, it was a delightful house, and only .a little money and care were needed to make it all that the heart of man could desire.

As Campbell limped up the avenue half a dozen dogs of various sizes and breeds, scenting a stranger, rushed round the corner of the house, and set upon him with one accord, not absolutely attacking him, but barking in a circle round him so savagely that he found it impossible to proceed.

He was quite relieved when a youngfellow of seven or eight and twenty lounged up with his hands in his pockets and called off the dogs. "You won't get anything here! Be off with you!" he shouted, not unnaturally taking the stranger for an ordinary tramp. But Campbell stood his ground. "I want to see Mr Cardale," he said quietly.

'"You can't see him, so that's flat. You had better take yourself off peaceably, or I'll lay the dogs on you."

"I only ask to see Mr Cardale, and I must see him. I have come all the way from London on purpose."

"Have you really?" said the other, with a grin. "That's funny now. And you'll have to g-o all the way back again without seeing him. And perhaps you'll think that funnier!" And the boor laughed loud at his own wit.

""Will you be good enough to tell your master that' "

The face of the younger man darkened with passion at the word. He took his clenched fists out of his pocket, and strode up to the stranger in a threatening manner, while the four-footed clogs .set up a hideous yelping in support, of their biped companion.

"I call no man master!" he vociferated. "If you mean to insult

me '

"I willingly insult no man," said Campbell. "Tell Mr Cardale, if you please, that his nephew, Hector Campbell, has come from London to see him."

The young man's anger vanished in a moment.

"His nephew! Good Lord! His nephew! Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!" He wheeled round, and darting round the corner of the house he ran in at one of the long French windows, calling" out:

"Here, uncle —here!" Here's your nephew from London come to bide wi' you a bit. He looks a rare gentleman, surely. I should say he had his last lodging. But come an' see him, or it's little the dogs will have left of him."

A minute later an old man, bent double with rheumatism, and leaning on two sticks as he walked, came round the corner of the house, and Campbell went up to him, holding out his hand.

The young man whom Campbell had first seen was in the background, waiting with pleased expectation for the volley of oaths and abuse which ho anticipated the squire would pour forth on finding that he had been fooled. His surprise was great when the old man, after a moment's hesitation, dropped one of his sticks on the ground and grasped the hand of the disreputable-looking stranger. " I'm glad t' see thee, lad !" said the old York.shireman ; " but ye"re in poor- fettle, seemingly !" " I have been ill, and have tramped all the way from London. But if you can give me some supper, and a bed in the barn, I'll tell you the rest of my story—if you like, that is—in the morning." The "Old Squire," as the■ country people called him, said nothing, but beckoned to his nephew to follow him, and hobbled off in the direction from which he had come. The pack of dogs seemed inclined to forbid the tramp to follow their master, but he, cunningly watching his opportunity, lei drive at the fiercest of them with his stick, and catching the intelligent animal on the snout caused him to retire, howling, with his comrades at his heels.

The western side of the house, to which Campbell was now led, presented the same appearance of poverty (or parsimony) and neglect, mingled with vestiges of former taste and generous outlay, which had been visible in front. 'There were a few flower beds scattered throughout the expanse of lawn, but they contained nothing- beyond a quantity of mignonette and some showy annuals, while the grass was sadly in need of cutting. Yet the general effect of the old house, standing in the after-glow of a summer evening, was beautiful, pictures^ que,1 and even stately. Mr Cardale led his nepheAv through one of the Trench windows into a handsome room, low-ceilinged, panelled in dark oak nearly to the ceiling, and (to Campbell's surprise) furnished with well-filled bookcases that ran all around the walls. The chairs and tables were solid and handsome, and had evidently belonged to a former generation.' The squire went out into the hall of the house, and bawled for "Tom'|; and on a half-grown lad making Ms appearance he confided Campbell to his care, bidding him get him a bath, and take what clothes he needed from his own waardrobe. . Never till that hour had Campbell fully understood the value of soap and water—the inestimable luxury of feelingl clean. Having put on the clothes that were provided for him, only some of which seemed to belong his host, he made his way downalans. In the hall he paused, undream which way to turn. It whs well-i:rp-pcrtioned, square, and profusely adorned with antlers, foxes' brushes, and specimens of curious old fowlingpieces, with some guos of modern make. As Campbell stood looking about him, and waiting for someone to direct him, the sound of 'i voice, the squire's voice,raised high in anger, fell on his ears. " I tell thee, he's as much my nephew as thou art, and if thou doesn't like it, thou can walk ! Who told thee to set up as master here, and say who shall come an' who shall go { Give him thy hand when he comes in, or you and I shall quarrel !" ■ At this point Campbell entered the room, and 'the squire went on— " This is my sister's son, Mr Lampbell Dick. Shake hands wi' him.' The ungainly fellow thus addressed rose unwillingly, withdrew his right hand from its place of rest in his breeches' pocket, pulled it slowly from under his Norfolk jacket, and sulkily offered it to the stranger. But" Campbell put his hand behind his back. .. " You'll excuse me, uncle," said he, " but I don't care to shake hands with any man against his will. There s little wonder," he went on. turning to the young man, who still held his hand extended in a sheepish khw oi

way, " there's little wonder that you didn't rake to me at first sight. I didn't look very decent. But by-and-bye, when we become better friends, as I hope we shall, I shall be glad to shake hands with you."

The young man continued to hold out his haud, and it struck Campbell that he wished the old man to notice that it was not he, but his new-found nephew, who was disobedient to his wishes.

But the old man only cried out : " Well said, Campbell ! Spoke like a man ! Supper, both on you—sit ye down."

He knocked impatiently on the table with his knuckles, and almost immediately the meal began. There was only one other person at table, a lady of perhaps fifty years of age—not a lady in the correct sense of the word, but a middle-aged woman, who was introduced to the stranger in. an informal way as " my brother George's wife—the only Mistress Cardale that's left."

The supper was a substantial meal, for in spite of his parsimony in most matters the squire kept a good table. Campbell ate heartily, smoked a pipe with the old man and his sulky relative, and when the latter, after several portentous yawns, had gone off to bed, told his uncle as much as It was necessary for him to know of the causes that had brought him to his present straits.

" I need hardly say, sir," said Campbell, in conclusion, " that I do not pretend to have any claim upon you whatever. But if you can see your way to finding me employment of any kind, I shall be exceedingly grateful to you. If not, you will perhaps b« good enough to lend me a few pounds to enable me to return to London, a.ud to keep me until I can get into regular work again. I am not afraid of work, sir, 1 assure you. My worst enemy has never accused me of that. The difficulty is to get work ; but I think that, with the connections I still have in London, in time I shall succeed."

" The first thing is to get you some decent clothes," said the old squire, with a not.unkindly gTin. "We will see about that to-morrow. It will be time enough by-and-bye to see what else I can do for you. I have not forgotten Mary — your mother — and I never shall forget her. How she ever came to take up with your father But there ; we need say no more nbout that. If you do the right thing by me boy, I'll do the right thing by you ; never fear ! But there aie others'—there arc others "

He seemed to fall into a reverie, and Campbell thought it best to leave him, and betake himselr to the room that had been assigned to him. He had not slept in a bed since he left the workhouse infirmary ; and it was late on the following morning before he found his wav downstairs.

The household at the Grange consisted only of the persons whom Campbell had already met —the old squire, his sister-in-law, " Mrs George," as she was invariably called, and her loutish son, Richard Cardale. It was soon evident to the stranger that Mrs George and her son regarded him as an intruder, with designs upon the old man's property. Indeed, it was plain that his interests and theirs could not do otherwise than clash, and very soon Campbell saw that the two Cardales, mother and son, looked upon everything that was given lo him or done for him as so much lost to them.

As soon as Campbell had had his breakfast, his vmcle despatched him in a dog-cart to a neighboiiring town to get himself some clothes. He did not entrust him with any money— that was not the old gentleman's way —but gave him v note for each of the tradesmen who was to furnish him with what was necessarjr.

The old squire had been in his day an excellent man of business, and in the course of a long and frugal life he had not only improved but added to the small estate he inherited from his fatheu He was now generally supposed to be a wealthy man ; and everybody considered him a miser, though this was true only in part. When he liked he could be generous enough ; and he always gave his sis-ter-in-law plenty, of money for the housekeeping. Yet he allowed the Grange and its approaches to lie in a disgraceful state of neglect, simply because he could not bear to spend wages on a job that would yield him no tangible return."

As Mr Cardale had never married, Mrs George and her son were his nearest relations, and Richard Avas generally looked upon, as his heir. The young man did not work ; he hated even the trouble of superintending the farm hands, and keeping- the accounts which he was supposed to look after. There was no wonder, therefore, that before Campbell had been a fortnight at the Grange his uncle asked him to do some bookkeeping. Campbell eagerly availed himself of the opportunity to make some small- return for the favours he had received at his uncle's hands ; and though the task was a difficult and tiresome one, owing to the slovenliness with which Dick Cardale had attended to the accounts, he finished the job on the afternoon of the dr«j,r he had begun it.

That evening some accident led Dick to look at the account book which Campbell had been posting up ; and he saw that the work he had been neglecting for weeks was done.

White with rage, and quite unable to control himself, he went into the library,whe.re Campbell and the squire were sitting over a game of draughts. Walking up to the interloper, as he considered him, Dick said through his teeth

"I'll thank you to leave my books alone in future. If you meddle with them again I'll break every bone in your body. You mind your own business."

Campbell glanced at his uncle, supposing that he would answer for him; but the old man sat studying the draughtboard, as if totally unconscious that anything had been said.

"I was not aware that they were your books and accounts," said Campbell. I thought they belonged to my uncle. And I need scarcely say that the next time he asks me to write them up, as he did to-day, I will do

so." "If you as much as lay a finger on one of them again, I'll give you the best thrashing you ever had in your life. So, now, you've had your warning," cried Dick Cardale, as he flung out of the room. , The. old man went on with his game, as though nothing had happened. But when, it .was over and the board put away, Campbell said: "You heard what passed just now between your nephew and me. 1 assure you I don't want to come between you and him in any way, or to be the occasion if dispeace in the family. It seems to me that I had better bring my visit to a close pretty

"No, no, lad," said tie squire. "Don't 'cc mind Dick. He's a good lad, Dick, though a bit masterful. He and his mother between them ——" He stoj)ped short, as he had done on a previous occasion when speaking on the same subject; and Campbell came to the conclusion that the sense of increasing age and long use had made the old man so accustomed to be managed by his relatives that he found it difficult to assert himself, although when he did so he was apt to be domineering.

A few days after this the squire, enraged at the total neg-lect of Dick to keep the account books, told him that for the future he had better attend to the outdoor work solely, and Campbell would see. to the accounts and correspondence. Dick received this intimation in sullen silence; but he let Campbell see pretty plainly that he both hated and suspected him. The situation was not at all a pleasant one for Campbell; and more , than once he begged the old man to give him a little money—just enough to pay his fare to London, and a little over. But his uncle would not hear of it, and, in fact, seemed to dread his g-oing. Campbell could make himself useful in many ways, and he came to think that so long as his uncle needed him it was his duty to stay, no matter whether Dick Cardale and his mother liked his presence' or not.

CHAPTER IX

AN UNWILLING TRIUMPH,

The family at 'Bryaustone square was to all appearance a most harmonious one. Cynthia and Estelle were the best of friends; and, as the Scotch girl never for a moment aspired to interfere with the management of the household, Mrs St. Aubyn soon came to think that the alarm with which Cynthia and she had looked forward to her coming was unfounded.

As for Estelle, she enjo3 red her life amazingly. Sometimes the thought of her father, and the emotion he had displayed when she refused to share his lot, crossed her mind like a shadow. She blamed herself for not getting- his address, so that she might write to him. But she consoled herself with thinking; that if he had liked he could have written to her. She supposed that he was too angry with her to care to do so; but what he had asked of her was surely unreasonable! Anyone, she told herself, would have said so. Certainly her uncle —she was not quite so sure about her grandfather —would have said that after, neglecting her so long he had no right to expect that she would change the whole course of her life, and abandon everything which in her opinion made life worth living, for the sake of being, with him. Besides, by his own confession he had been a drunkard, and,everybody knew that it was most unsafe to trust to a drunkard's promises of reformation. In spite of her doubts, tjstelle admitted to herself that if she had the choice to make over again she would choose as she had done.

The only other thing that troubled her was the- state of her grandfather's health. The winter had tried him severely; he was an old man, and lie did not seem able to throw off any little ailment that attacked him, as he had been accustomed to do. Aunt Jean was evidently alarmed; but then Aunt Jean had always been overcareful, and alXvaj's took the gloomy view of things. Like most young people, Estelle could not think that one could be really ill who .was able to go about as usual.' Estelle had plenty of admirers, but no lover —none, at least, that she knew of —Archie being always excepted. Mrs St. Aubyn, however, knew that the girl had made an important conquest. The fact was that Lord Brailsford, a man who scarcely ever appeared at a lady's tea table, had of late presented himself at Bryanstone square on almost every one of the days when Mrs St. Aubyn was supposed to be at home to her friends. His ' visits were no pleasure to Mrs St. Aubyn, for she saw clearly enough that neither she nor Cynthia was the attraction, and she had had hopes in that quarter; first for' herself, and wThen these hopes died of inanition, for Cynthia. It was hard to see the prey, which had been hunted so skilfully that the quarry 'was unconscious of the pursuit, quietly appropriated by a strans*er. „

But Mrs St. Aubyn was a sensible Avoman. She saw that neither she nor Cynthia1 could do anything1 to restrain the peer's wandering fancies, and they remembered that it would be much better to be on good terms with Lady Brailsford than the reverse. So she prudently resolved to let tiling's take their course without help or hindrance from her.

She was neither surprised nor perturbed, therefore, when she received a hint from her brother-in-law to the effect that it might be worth while to leave Estelle .and his lordship alone, if it could be made to appear-that it had happened by accident. . Lord Brailsford was so punctual in his calls that Mrs St. Aubyn thought that she might count upon him. The rest was easy. . On the next Thursday, when his'lordship might be confidently expected, Mrs St. Aubyn had a headache, and she told the servant, that she was not at home that day—except to Lord Brailsford. If his lordship called, he was to b ; e shown up to the drawing-room as usual. ,' It thus happened that as Estelle was curled up in an easy chair, deep in the enjoyment of a novel, Lord Brailsford, to her consternation, walk* ed into the room.

Estelle sprang- up, scarcely knowing! what to do or say, covered with blushes, and wishing with all her heart that Cynthia, had not gone. out. Lord Brailsford took in the situation at a glance. He formed a pretty accurate guess on the spot as to thfe nature and probable duration of Mrs. St. Aubyn's headache, and he felt actually grateful to that experienced campaigner for affording him, the opportunity he had been waiting for. "I am so sorry Mrs St.'Aubyn can't see you to-day," said Estelle, coming' forward to shake hands, conscious that her hair was tumbled, and that she was generally in a very unfit state to meet anybody. "She is. in bed with a headache. The servant—it was his blunder—he was told to tell anyone that called " "Never mind, Miss Campbell," said; the viscount, coolly seating himself, "Since I am here you won't be so cruel as to drive me away without giving, me a minute to rest in. See what a; day it is, too. You'wouldn't turn out a dog or a cat on a day like this." "The dog or cat ..wouldn't have the advantage of a hansom," said Estelle, smiling. . . ■ ■ ~ . Brailsford smiled too, and said that had nothing to do with it—it was the principle of the thing — the moral e ff ec t—that was important in his eyes. 4nd so he went-on with easy, goodhumoured banter, till Estelle-lost her shyness and- felt quite at her ease._ Then they began.to speak ; of their plans for the autumn,; then, of other soon."

topics; and still Lord Brailsford wag waiting for his opportunity. At length he realised, much to his surprise, that he was absurdly afraid ol this unsophisticated girl. He drew his hand : over his chin, bent slightly forward, and said softly: "Really I look upon myself as fortunate to-day, for I have long wished for the chance of a little quiet talk with you." Even then she did not understand. She merely thought the viscount was a little more polite than usual. "I fear you will think me abrupt, and perhaps egotistic, but that can't be helped. Miss Campbell, I am not a young man, and I have travelled a good deal. And in all my travels I have never met a woman who, in my opinion, was to be compared to —yourself. I am speaking the sober truth. I have met women as beautiful, or nearly, so, though not many; but I have never met one who had for me so great a charm of manner, so much grace, and so much good sense —so far as that quality is discoverable in a London drawing-room. It would have been strange if so much beauty and goodness had not made an impression upon my heart. They have made a very deep impression, Estelle —an impression that will never be effaced. Simplest words are perhaps best, when it is the thing- said that is of importance. Estelle, I love you sincerely. Will you marry me?" It was done at last; and, his lordship was inclined to tihink, not badly done.

Probably he was right; but the effect upon Estelle was simply to produce in her mind a feeling of incredulous horror. It is most absurd, no doubt, and shows w Jhat it is to have a total lack of training in affairs of that kind: but the simple-minded girl felt as though she had been insulted. "You cannot be serious, Lord Brailsford!" s'lie stammered out, blushing and trembling all over.

"But, indeed, I am, my dear!" cried the peer. He was overjoyed. He. took her exclamation for a sign of yielding. "Is it settled then, my darling Estelle?" he said, softly, trying to take her hand.

"Oh, no! no! no!" screamed the girl, snatching her hand away, as though a snake had touched it.

The viscount's face darkened, biit 'he had more sense than to quarrel with the girl he was asking to marry 'him, so he contented himself with saying gently:

"Why does my proposal seem so very absurd to yon?"

If the girl had spoken her mind she would have blurted out: "Why, you are twice too old! You are nearlj' as old as grandpapa, and far older than Uncle Marehant?" But as this could not be said, she declared as emphatically as she could that she was much obliged, but could not for a moment consent to be Lady Brailsford.

"I will come for my answer in a week," said his lordship, rising.

"But, Lord Bnuisford, I have given you my answer."

"Scarcely, my dear; for you have not had time to consider the matter from every point of view. There are reasons Which may appeal to you after a while which it would not become me to insist tipon. You would like to be 'ray lady' for one thing', would you not? But that doesn't matter. Let me say just this much: Your life here has been very pleasant, 'has it not — much more interesting and much more enjoyable than it was when you lived on the shore of a Scotch loch? Well, if you become Lady Brailsford, your life would be nearly as much fuller, more varied, more enjoyable than your present life as it is better than the life you used to lead in Scotland."

If the viscount had known it lie would never have uttered that speech, for Estelle :had just been thinking- very tenderly of her old home, that would never be her home any more.

She was still considering what reply she should make w!hen the door opened, and the lady who was supposed to be in bed with a bad headache walked into the room. She 'had thought that. Lord Brailsford had gone. Of course retreat was out of the question. She came forward and shook hands with the visitor. Estelle felt an unreasonable inclination to giggle. In fact, t!he surprise and the excitation of her feelings had been a little too much for her nerves. Before Lord Brailsford had time to bow himself out of the room she had the greatest .difficulty in keeping 'herself from a burst of hysterical laughter.

"I will come for my answer next week," lie said to tlie" girl in a low voice, as he shook hands Avitk her. And before she could make lip 'her mind what would be bes,t for her to say he Avas gone.

"Well, my dear, am I to congratulate you?" said the matron, with a smile, when the door had closed behind the elderly suitor.

"Congratulate me!" exclaimed the girl, glad to have an outlet for her feelings. "Do you really imagiue I could marry a man old enough -to be my grandfather? I might like him yevy much, but as for marrying him —u;>'h! I should hate and despise myself for ever if I were even to think of doing such a thing!" "My dear, you a.re very young," said Mrs St. Aubyn, quietly, "as she took her seat on the couch by the fire. "By the time you are well through next season "

■ "It is just because I am so young that it seems to me so ridiculous antt so perfectly horrid!" interrupted Estelle. "And I hope that I shall never be old enough, or—or unnatural enough, to think of such a. marriao-e with anything but disgust." The older lady smried: an indulgent and amused smile.

"Shall you tell your uncle of this offer you have had?" she asked, after a. pause.

"No! Why should I? Yet, perhaps it would be better."

"I wonder what he will think of your refusing such a splendid alliance?" said Mrs St. Aubvn.

And a little chill crept down Estelle's back as she repeated the question to herself: "I wonder what mv uncle will say?"

(To be Continued.)