A DILEMMA.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume XXX, Issue 9642, 17 January 1903, Page 5 (Supplement)

A DILEMMA.

(By K. S. Skae.) CHAPTER I. All the garden seemed to sleep m the hot 'sunshine, and beneath the chestnut trees the shadows waited for the evening \ hour that would release them from their hiding-place. Every now and then the big leaves moved ever so lazily to let little goiden-greeu lights filter through on to Mary's hair aoid thoughtful face. Suddenly a quick impatient step awoke the stillness, and a tall girl, with a pretty, babyish face, came on to the lawn, and flung herself into the other deck chair. For a moment she sat swinging her foot m silence, then— "l won't marry him!" she burst 0ut...Jl won't! I wont!" "Why don't 'you say so, then, Nancy, and have done with it?" said Mary, sticking her fist into the heel of a stocking, and beginning to darn. "No one can marry you against your will." "'Have done with it!'" cried Nancy, gesticulating excitedly, as if the other's calmness exasperated her. "'Have done with it!' Did you ever know godmother to have done with anything till she got her own way about it? You ought to knpw her, for you've bean her companion for two years, and I don't suppose you've even been able to call your soul your own for two seconds of that time." Mary flushed, and set her lips rather bitterly. "That's different. I'm a paid companion, as you say. You don't need to please anyone but yourself." "Oh, don't I! Well, anyway, I've got to choose between two tilings, equally horrible — either , I marry Seville, >a man I haven't -seen since I was eight, or I go home to all sorts of worries and hardships, and — and probably end m being a governess, or a companion to a cross, fidgetty old lady, as you have to be." "Oh, not as bad as that," said Mary, filling m the hole m her stocking with nimble fingers. "Quite as bad," insisted Nancy. "Godmother treats me as her adopted daughter—gives me a big allowance, lots of pretty dresses, and parties — but she expects a big return for it all. And if you are the eldest of eight, and your father a poor clergyman, and can't quarrel with your only rich relation without thinking twice, I can't go home and dress on, £18 a year, and teach the little ones," she ended with a sort of wail. "It's awkward," . said Mary. "Very. But aren't, you meeting trouble half- way? Suppose Mr' Hickley doesn't want to marry you?" . "No such luck ! He is' quite inclined to. fall m with Godmother's plans. Every ori*e gives into her, besides the money is hers, and she can cut him off with a penny if she likes." Mary was silent. She was thinking of a portrait m Mrs. Hickley's drawing-room, and wondering if that were the face of a man who would allow his mother to arrange his future for him. She knew the face so well— -handsome, and a little reckless, perhaps, with imperious eyes like his mother's,' and a mouth whose gentleness 'gave to the whole expression, an indescribable ■charm. It was a loveable face, rather an indolent face, she admitted, but it 'was not weak, and she found herself hoping that its owner Arould not make her change her opinion of him. It did not seem strange to her that her attitude of mind should be that of a personal friend towards hhn, for his name was so constantly heard m Crofton Grange and the neighborhood that his pers6nality seemed m some subtle way to pervade the place jstijl, and Mary had not been long there before was infected by the eager interest m his movements, and began; to put him into the 1 little romances, with which, like many another of imaginative turn of mind, she supplied the deficiencies of her read life. Careless Nancy had not the faintest idea that Mary listened to the outpourings of her! rebellious heart with any tinge, of personal interest. Her own life was too full: of pleasant realities to admit of dream friendships, and it did not strike her. to look for romance m any one so apparently commonplace and matter-of-fact as Mary. '-. • While Mary's mind was occupied with Neville, she was busy with her own thoughts, and , with Nancy ' the , distance between thought and speech was infinitesimal. ".'■.; "Oh, Mary, if only he would fall m love with, you!" , . ' "That's, so likely !" said Mary, and she bent her head lowerjoyer her darning. She -knew that her small, pale face had no pretensions to prettiness. Her large, rather pathetic brown eyes were her only beauty, but she *was hot even conscious of their power. Nancy sat looking at her for; a moment, then she got up with an impulsive movement, and, flinging herself on.the gross, before Mary, caught her round the waist. ' _v ..•"-. "Oh, Mary," she cried, "please, please help me! Godmother has set her heart on .this marriage j > she has written • again to beg Neville to come home, and she is going to. send hhn my photograph. Mary dear, let me enclose your pnotograph instead of mine." - ; :■;,■ Mary- had dropped '.her slocking,- and her fata* was- rather hard, as she met Nan"That's a good way out of/the difficulty was what was m Nancy's mind, but, tactless as she was, she had the grace to look rather ashamed when liier thoughts were.^put into words. "It v ineans so much to me," she pleaded evasively. ' "I must marry Eric — we love each other so much. But I daren't confess that to Godmother just now. . She would pack me"; straight off home, and Eric is -so poor he couldn't possibly afford to marry me unless she would do something to*help. us." .;...;■ : i'But are you sure 1 you love Eric?'.' asked- Mary. "You've had so many flirtations ; " ''Flirt-dtions— yes ! But this is the real thing, flfc would break our hearts if we. we*e parted. -Mary; you don't want to break my heart?" Mary looked doubtful. She had heard thfc same thing before, for Nancy resembled tbtj girl who said- that her love was eternal, but the object of it was always changing . Yet it was difficult to resist Nancy, rather .heartless, when she chose to exert all her l 'ghaxm .~iii order to get her own way. She kad"always bad a certain power over Ma-iy; she confused. her judgment, so that even deceit seemed almost pardonable if it were to save anyone so lovely from uuhappiness. , "But it's so dangerous, Nancy," she said, i weakly... "Suppose he remembers you?" "Not possible. He had been abroad for years and years. You know he And Godmother quarrelled about some girl he wanted to marry. Then the girl died, and he went abroad. I was eight the only time he ever saw me, and I. don't suppose he carried away the faintest recollection, of me. Oh, Polly dew.*, you are going to help me— l know you are !" "And suppose— it isn't -likely— but just suppose he comes home m spite of my photograph — what then?"- - "Maryy' you know you do take shockingly badly, and, m the photograph I want to send/ you look your very worst, and Godmother says that Neville will be m the mood when a straw would decide him; one; way or the other, and that he was 'always so much influenced by mere prettiness." "So there isn't much risk," said Mary, disengaging herself suddenly from Nancy's arms and getting up. "All right, Nan, you shall have the photograph." And she laughed to herself as she went into the house and dashed the tears rather fiercely from her eyes. "It's quite fair, after all," she thought. "Tve known him all this time from his photograph — now. he'll. have a chance of knowing me from mine." CHAPTER n. One -morning, a few weeks later, Mrs Hickley come into the moniiug'room with an open letter m bsr baud, and an expression, of -amusement, on her grim old face, Mary was arranging the flowers, and a tray of vases, ready filled with water, and. a great pile of sweet peas and ro»pi were on the table before her. Nancy w'os'idlingnear her with » book. "You had better read this, Nancy," said her Gbdmother. : '*lt will give you, eomethiug to think about — it won't makfi you more conceited than you are already,"

■ she added with a chuckle. "It's from Neville. Mary knelt down suddenly to gather up a bunch of sweet peas that had rolled from her hands on to the floor, and Nancy, who stood m awe of her godmother, • took the letter obediently, and began, to ! read. "You've listened to many a pretty speech about that silly little face of yours before now, I don? t> doubt," continued Mrs Hickley. "But you've never heard it called 'clever' or 'original,' and I only hope you will manage to live up to- the I character," and, still chuckling, she went away, leaving a scared silence behind her. Nancy had' grown rather pale. "Oh, Mary he's coming !" she said m a whisper, as soon as she thought that her godmother was out of hearing. "Listen to this" — and she read — "Dearest Mother,— Thanks for your letter and photograph of Miss Harborougn. Mother, deai-, your geese were always swans, and will be to the end of the chapter. I expect you've depicted me as a sort of Adonis to Miss itarborough, and that is why you painted her as Venus to me I can't say 1 see the beauty ; but it's a clever, original little face, the lace of a girl a man could trust, and 1 like it. You know, motlier, that all the love 1 ever had' to give was buried with another woman years ago. But I believe I could grow fond of a girl with that face, and I should like to please you since you have set your heart on this, as I am afraid 1 have not been a very satisfactory son to you irf other ways. lam tired of knocking about, too, and I suppose a man begins to think of a home of his own.when he reaches the shady side of thirty. Any way, you may expect me shortly after you get this letter, and I will do my best not to disappoint you, if the lady will be so kind as to give me a chance of winning her favor.— Ever your loving son, Seville.' There was dead silence when Nancy -had finished reading. Mary's heart was beating quickly, and there was a flush on her cheeks.that made her look almost pretty. „ , "Whatever is to be done now,' slie murmured, guiltily conscious that mingled with' her. consternation was a sense of delicious joy. Nancy ahnost-'wrung her hands. "I don't know ! I don't know !" she cried.' "Why, even now he is probably on his way. I cton't believe there ever was a girl who had as many troubles as I have/ ■ ■ •* "Why, what's wrong, sweetheart?" said a voice from the. garden, and a man, with a boyish, sunburnt face, put his head and shoulders through the -window. Nancy flew across the, room, and throwing herself into the window seat, poured out a harrowing description of her predicament^ "I shall have to marry him, Eric, I know I shall," she added when her eloquence was "exhausted, and she was leaning bock against his arm. Eric's eyes darkened, and his arm tightened masterfully round her. "I'll kill him first s Promise me now, ' he added, jealously, "that you won't flirt with him." . . ' ■ '"'"Don't talk so loud or Godmother will come back," replied Nancy, who never committed herself to a promise if she could avoid it. "Seriously, Eric, what am I to do?" "Confess to Mrs Hickey, and tell her you are going to marry me." "You silly boy ! She would send me home, where f I would never see you; and you know it will.be years and years before you can marry. No, I know," she cried, springing- excitedly to -her feet, "Mary must manage somehow to see him first, dud explain our difficulty to him. Then he shall pretend he wants to back out of the agreement, so that Godmother won't think it's my fault." "He won't do that. . He'll fall m love with you — no man could help it— rand you will let him persuade you to be engaged to him, and forget to tell him about me," said Eric, whose knowledge' of his sweetheart's character made him take a gloomy view of the matter. "' "But Nancy only laughed, for her spirits had revived with the necessity of scheming to avert the danger. "Come, Mary, sit up close-/' she cried gaily. "We'll put our heads together and make our plans." About a week later Nancy, looking her very best m a picturesque Hat,, and a white' muslin frock sprigged with little roses, set off m the pony cart to meet Neville at Lowbridge, three miles away. Mrs Hickey watched her depart with inward satisfaction. She had great faith m first impressions, and so she sent Nancy off alone, without even John the groom m the back seat, and smiled at her own diplomacy, as she said : — " Joliri will follow with the cart for the luggage. There are too many for Firefly m this hot weather. She?s lovely," she added to herself. "He can't'; help falling m love with: her at first sight." Nancy was well pleased, for reasons of her own^ to get away without the groom. She nodded demurely to her godmother, jerked the reins and set off at a brisk pace down the avenue. Now that the time for action had come, she felt all the exhilaration of the born intriguer, and her eyes shone ; she sang snatches of song to herself as Firefly trotted down the high road. ■...-■ l._' : '.<,-•• About half-way between Crofton Grange and the station a dainty littl&figure stood with a bicycle by the side* of the road, and Nancy pulled up beside it with a cheerful flourish of the whip. . "GooTl Mary! How quick you must haye^been to get back here ! Godmother fondly imagines you are m town doing her messages. Serves her right for send-; ing you shopping on a broiling day like tins. Now hop m, -and I'll ride slowly home and wait at the end of the avenue for you and Neville." "I— l wish you would meet him,- and explain yourself," said Mary, m a voice that betrayed her ne.rvousness. She caught Nancy's arm appealingly, but the latter only jerked herself away with, a* gay little laugh. -V . ' i ;; "Not I !" she cried. "You promised,: Polly, and you can't draw back now. Be-i sides, he is expecting to see you, andtliink how disappointed he would be if; he only found me on the platform." She! ■sprang on to the bicycle, so'os to cut snort any further remonstrance and flew off up the road while Mary climbed into the trap, and brought the whip down smartly on Firefly's back, as a slight vent to her. sense of injustice. The train was signalled when she reached the station, ana, feeling too restless to wait m the dogcart, Mary summoned a boy to stand at the pony's head, and went on to the platform. Neville was at the window of his carriage as* the train steamed into the familiar, sleepy little station, and he looked out eagerly. There were scarcely half-a-dozen people on the platform, and his eyes fell instantly on the girl m the straw hat and dusty blue serge skirt. He recognised the white, anxious face, with a throb of surprised pity. >"Why, she's frgihtened out of her wits, poor little soul!" he said to liimself. * "What a burning shame !" And he jumped out, and went up to Mary, who was frbwriingly contemplating the passengers, one by one, as they alighted. "I think you must be Miss Harborough?" he said, and Mary turned with a gasp, anil saw the face of the photograph, odder and rather sadder, perhaps, but the same face, and her nervousness suddenly vanished, for it was as if her hand was taken m the safe, -kind clasps of an old friend. .But a few*, minutes later, when the straggling houses of the town, were left behind, and Firefly, was trotting between warm hayfields towards the Grange, the weight of her impending explanation fell upon lter again, and crushed down h»r light-lieartedness. Neville was talking to her/ but she never remembered afterwords what it was all about, for. a singing m her ears deafened her to every otlter sound, as she knew that the moment for confession had come. : " /"?. ' She checked ' Firefly abruptly, and the pony, only too willing to dawdle, fell into a walking pace. Neville stopped short m. the middle of. a description of his journey across America, and glanced m surprise at his com-' panion. "You don't feel well,!' he said, for she v had grown very pale. "This heat " I "No, no — it's not that." Mary turned

a pair of piteous eyes to liim, with an ex- : pression m them that seemed to implore ; forgiveness. ''It's something I must tell you — something dmuliul." Neville's thoughts ilew to his motlier. She must be ill, or dead, he told himself ; but he kept very calm, and waited, while strangely enough, Ids strongest fueling was one 01 indignation that the tasK. 01 breaking the news to him should fall on this sensitive child. "I'm not MissHarborough," stammered Mary, as soon as she could get her breath again. "I'm only Alary Greeham — your mother's companion." Her wßrds were such a relief to Neville that he almost lauglied outright, and the disparity between lus fears and the reality was so great that at lirst ho liardly took m the meaning of what she had told him. "Don't look at me like that," he said. "Don't look so frightened, you poor child. Not Miss Harborough? iiut it was your photograph I got. I recognised you m an instant." "I know — I know," and then she told him everything, only omitting any mention of Eric, as Nancy had instructed her. "We'll tell him about trie when we know him better," the latter had said, and Mary had bowed to her ruling, although experience had warned her that Nancy's motives were not above suspicion. Neville whistled softly to liimself when he first grasped her explanation, and when she had finished it, he was silent. Presently the funny side ' of the situation struck him, he laughed, and Mary, gaining courage, joined m quite merrily. "I say!" It's awkward for us all, though," he said at last. Then he paused, and as another thought struck him, he turned to her sharply, "Did you see the letter I wrote, after getting the photograph?" he asked, and Mary's cheeks grew hot as she turned away her head, and said "Yes." This seemed to bring the awkwardness of the position home to them both, and Mary whipped up Firefly, and neither spoke until they came within sight of the lodge gates of Orofton Grange. ''Nancy is waiting there," remarked Mary, pointing with her whip ; and there indeed was Nancy, swinging on the gate, and glancing up at Neville beneath her Jiat, with such dancing, mischievous eyes that poor Mary felt a hitherto unexperienced pang of jealousy. Neville sprang down and took her hand. "So you are. the culprit," he said. "A nice scrape you've got yourself into!" "Oh, you aren't going to give me away*!" cried Nancy, with pretty alarm. ''Haven't you forgiven me?" "I suppose I must," said Neville, looking at her lingeringly. "But why were you £o unflatteringly anxious to keep me ■ m America?" "Well, you see, any girl would hate being told to marry a man she. had never seen." "Of course, she would. But if that was your only objection, you might have let me come on approval. But what is to be done now? Am Ito tell my mother that, after seeing you, I've changed my mind? Or might we not start afresh, just as if we had never heard of her plans, and give ourselves the chance of being able to please her after all ? That doesn't com- . Mit either of us to anything. Come, what do. you say?" • Nancy ■hesitated, met his eyes, and, dropping her own, shuffled the gravel for a moment with the toe of her shoe, while Mary held her breath with a sudden hope that she 1 was going to confess about Eric. But she might have known Nancy better. "There's no reason wiry we shouldn't get to know each other," she said at last, lifting her face,, irradiated by a sudden smile, to Neville's. "Don't say anything yet to Godmother." 1 CHAPTER 111. The long hot "day was over, the golden sunset haa died away, and twilight, dim and cool, lay at last over the garden and woods and fields. Neville lighted his cigar and strolled out into the dewy dampness of the park. Ever since it had grown too dark for tennis, he and Nancy had been sitting together beneath the chestnut trees, but she nad leit him at last, and now' he was alone. All day he had been haunted by a desire for time to think, yet, now that he was alone, thought evaded him, and he ' Wtus-only conscious of a restlessness and vague discontent without being able to probe to their cause. He had been a fortnight at Crofton Grange, and he was getting on excellently with Nancy. Indeed, that versatile young lady seemed. more than willing to meet Ids friendliness half-way, and yet lie felt none of the elation of a successful suitor* — rather, the thought of the inevitable end, towards which he was drifting, filled him with jaded indifference, through which lie was sometimes conscious of a more active distaste. To-night all Nancy's bubbling gaiety had not been able to dispel his depression, and so he was glad when she left him and the need of keeping up appearances was. gone. • "I wish I had stopped m America," he said to himself. Yet some of the evening peace had sunk into his heart by the time he hod walked round tlie. park, and he felt ready to face his mother and Nancy again. . One corner of the park was bounded by a small plantation,- through which ran a path that ended at the kitchen garden gate. It was dark m the wood, for it was. past ten, so that Neville^came quite suddenly on what seemed to him at first to be a lovers' meeting, and he hesitated a moment, half inclined to retrace his steps softly before, he should be seen. Then the man's voice arrested his attention, for it was a gentleman's voice-^not a peasant's — and^Neville paused, wondering who he could be. ■■■ . r "I shan't stand this shilly-shallying much longer — I , tell you I shan't; why can't I come openly to the house?" The woman answered him more softly — so softly that Neville. did not eaten the words, but he recognised the voice with a pong of resentment, so strong and unexpected that he obeyed the first angry impulse, and walked forward. The man and woman started apart, and stood m silence, while he advanced upon them, quite unconscious at the moment of the unreasonableness of Ms attitude towards them. Mary had not the presence of mind to do the obvious thing, and introduce the two men, and Eric, to judge by the scowl- with which he recognised Neville, was not anxious for the honor of on introduction. . "I'll be off now,"; he said, after a moment's awkward silence,- and Neville stood aside to let him pass through the gate, and watched him vanish amongst the trees m what seemed to Mary a condemning silence. ■ "Who would have thought that innocentlooking little girl capable of anything underhand?" he was thinking, trying to furnish. an excuse for his indignation to himself: "I'm sorry I interrupted just now, Miss Gresham," lie said, speaking more savagely than he knew. "Don't let me bring you m sooner than you intended, but it's very late— long after ten, I should think." Mary tlirew her head m the air. She was angry,,.with him for being angry, and too proud to explain the reason, of her meeting with Eric, even if it had been possible to do so without telling tales of Nancy. "What right have you to criticise my actions?" she said, with an unexpected' flash of temper. "None, of course," said Neville, "but I didn't. know I had done so." And they walked together down the garden, and parted m silence m the hall. '•Nancy was rather pensive jiext day. The game she was playing had reached a stage that required careful management, and she was not quite certain what should be her next move m it. Men were unreasonable, she said, with a sigh, which 'was her way of translating the fact .that her admirers were not always willing to be dropped, just as soon' as she had dis- , covered that she had no further use for them. -'• . ■ . Eric was th& unreasonable man at the present moment. .She wanted to wriggle out of her engagement with him, and was paving the way for doing so by evading the stolen .meetings that had once been so pleasantly exciting, and by dropping hints of a change of policy m the messages

that she sent, by way of a sop -to him, ; whenever she could persuade Mary to carry them. Eric was, however, not taking these hints m good part, and last night he had issued a sort of ultimatum, which, adept as she was at slipping out of tight corners, was causing her some uneasiness, llis leave, he told her through Mary, was up m two days, and he intended to have it understood by all concerned that she was his promised wife, before he left. Would she, therefore, meet him at the park gate that evening, as she used to do, and talk things over? Or should he call on Mrs Hickley, make a straightfor- : ward confession of the engagement between them, and ask her to countenance it? The latter suggestion was rather like a threat, Nancy thought, and the alternative was nearly as disagreeable to her. She ' hated the thought of a scene with him, and she could not face the idea of an explanation with her godmother, especially now when she had just discovered that her wishes were no longer m the very least degree distasteful to her. Such i an explanation would spoil everything, ! and all day she racked her brains to find a means of averting it, and of satisfying j Eric, without committing herself more | irrevocably than she had already done to : him. ! In the end slie came to tlie conclusion that there was nothing for it but to ex- ; plain as kindly as possible to him that she j could not marry him, and, as she. drove home with Neville a garden-party j that afternoon, she' was wondering how she could induce Mary to act once more as lier go-between m the matter. Neville did not notice her abstraction as they drove through tlie countiy lanes together, for he, too, was thinking deeply, and, curiously enough, his thoughts •also were engaged with Mary. He knew now that he did not wish to marry Nancy pretty, brilliant Nancy ! — for it was Mary who had stolen her quiet way into his heart, and Mary who, by all the laws of compensation should have belonged to him hi consideration of such an inexcusable trespass, had put a barrier between hetr self and him by loving another man. In the illogical way of a man who was not accustomed to being thwarted, he resented tliis, and as soon as they reached home he went to his room,- fumbled m his writ- j ing-case, and finding what he wanted, carried it outside and across the lawn. Mary was sitting m her favorite place under the chestnuts. She had been reading to Mrs Hickley, but that cantankerous old lady had gone indoors to be "tidied up" for dinner by her maid, leaving Mary alone. She moved restlessly when she saw Neville, and then pretended to be deep m her book. Neville looked at her closely. She was wearing a holland frock, which he thought suited her little gipsy face to perfection, and she looked so small and young that his heart went out with a sudden tenderness towards her. Then he pulled himself together, and hardened Ids heart. He did not choose to be ignored like this. "One moment, Miss Gresham," he said, "I have something of yours here. I've brought it back to you, because I have no longer any right to keep it." Mary pretended to start— a manoeuvre which, m spite of her wretchedness, caused Neville a certain grim amusement. >She raised her head, and looked at him from beneath the brim of her sun-hat. "Something of mine?" "Yes; your. photograph." He held it out to her. "Perhaps I ought to have j returned it before, but I thought, con- i sidering the circumstances m which it was sent to me, that I had a right to it. Now ! I see differently." He paused, but Mary j made no sign, only took the photograph, and fingered it absently, with bent head. Her apparent indifference made him lose his temper somewhat. "Some men," Miss Gresham," he said, rather wruthfully, "might have expected more of a girl who had been the means of bringing them all the way from America with the intentions you know of." j A deep tinge of color came into the girl's I cheeks, and she looked up, only to avert her eyes as quickly again. "But you are going to marry Nancy," she said, m a low voice. * Her answer brought Neville to his . senses, for it reminded him that he had lost any claim. he might have had to her by his attentions to Nancy.-mnd that he : had led everyone to expect him to propose ! to the latter. In the shock of the'discovery that he loved Mary, he hud forgotten this, and her words were a disagreeable reminder. "I suppose I am going to marry Nancy," he replied, half sullenly. "But that's not why I'm giving back your photograph, as you know very well," he added, indignant with her for turning the tables on him so neatly. "Somebody would resent my keeping it, and want it himself, I am sure." Mary looked puzzled for an instant, and then comprehension flashed into her face. "Of course— somebody might," slie said, quite naucily, and she tlirew a smile at Jum as she got up, and left him without another word. .*■ ■■ That evening she stole into the garden after dinner, and, while Nancy sang to Neville, she walked with clenched hands up and down, up and down .the lawn. At last she paused irresolutely before the open draw ing-room window, and gazed m frowningly, as if schooling herself to bear the sight. The candles on the piano were lighted, and their light fell on Neville's head as he bent forward to turn the pages of Nancy's music. His face was hidden, but Nancy's profile was turned to the window as she song, and Mary set her teeth m a sudden agony of jealousy. How beautiful she was ! No man could help loving such a face ! Slie turned away, and, for the first, time, notaced that Eric had come across the lawn, anil, standing well back m the shadow of the trees, was watching too. Ihen she remembered that Nancy had promised to see him herself to-night; but Nancy generally managed to forget her promises when it proved inconvenient to keep them, and so Eric had grown tired of waiting for luer, while she sang to Neville. . . . "Pretty picture, isn't it?" said the boy between his teeth. Mary saw his face, and shivered a little. Everything seemed all wrong to her all at once— the world was a cruel place, and Nancy's gay voice was like a heartless mockery at its sadness. It would always be like tlus— life and love were only a game to Noncyi and she would go on her way m utter unconsciousness of the misery that could never touch her soulless gaiety. Acting on a sudden impulse, Mary went to Eric, and took liis arm. "Come away," she said, pityingly. "She doesnt understand like we do— she isn't really cruel; it's because slie can't understand." Eric shook off the kind, little hand as though it hurt liim, for he could not trust himself to face compassion like a man. . "Why doesn't she come when she promised?' he said, hoarsely. "I must know what it means^-I must speak to her." ,' "Not to-night," pleaded Maiy. "Don't go m, it can do no good. Oh!" with a little irrepressible moan; "it's not so bad for you — she doesn't love him." Eric scarcely heard her last words, and •the pom m her voice had no meaning for him, for he was deaf to everything but his own misery. "Then she must come out to me," he said. "Either thai, or I see Hickley— l can't bear this suspense any longer. *0h ! Miss Ureshany bring her out tome— make some excuse— anytliingT— only get her to come." "Wait well back, in 'the trees, then," said Maty. His desperation frightened her, and she. hurried to the. French window, scarcely knowing, what she was going, to do or say. "" . Nancy and Hickley were alone. They both turned when Mary appeared at the window, and Nancy put down the soft pedal m order to hear what she had to say. - Mary was pale with lier nervousness and excitement, and her eyes shone like stars. "Won't you come out, Nancy," she said abruptly. "There — there's such a lovely moon."* 'I

Nancy looked surprised for a moment, then Neville saw a strange look pas»s between her and Mary, and she rose hurriedly. "1 won't be long, Neville," she said owr her shoulder as she went out. "Mary and 1 want to talk secrets." "I'm not wanted, that's evident," said Neville to himself. "What's up now, I wonder?" and he strolled to the window and watched the two light dresses dis- i appear amongst the trees. it was veiy dark and silent m the gar- . den. The moon had only lately risen, and the trees shut its light away from the lawn and shrubbery paths. One silvery lance, -however, pierced the chestnuts, and . stretched right across the grass to the windows. "It looks jolly out there," thought Neville. "I suppose there's room for me to smoke without hearing their secrets," and he strolled out. i All seemed very still at first., then- he heard the murmur of voices hi a distant corner, and he turned off into a dark path that seemd to lead away from it. As he did so, a litle figure turning the corner ; sharply, ran up against him, and he caught and held it, at first automatically, ! then m obedience to an irresistible impulse :to enjoy the stolen sweetness a little , longer. ! "Alary," he said softly. "Have you hurt yourself ? Was it my fault?" He ; felt her heart beat wildly for on instant, then slie pulled herself away with a little cry, and at the same moment the murmur ; of voices at the bottom of the garden ceased, and there was intense silence. Neville felt ratlier surprised at fifist, then" he remembered that there had been something a little strange m the way Nancy had left him, and he turned to Miuy with a dawning suspicion. "Who was talking over there just now ? Where's Nancy? I thought you were together?" "We — we were," stammered Mary. "But— but " "I thought there was something queer, m tlie way you got her outside. Come ! Own up, Miss Gresham. What mischief are you girls up to?" "Really, Mr Hickley, one would think I was a baby," said Mary, with dignity. "Do you mind letting go of my hand?" Neville had really been holding it almost unconsciously, but now he kept it m his a moment longer, while he looked at her strangely. "I think I know what it's all about !" lie said at last. "It seems you aren't the only one who holds evening meetings. Anyway m this cose I have a right to find out for myself." v He dropped her hand, and marched resolutely away from her. The path curved round towards a little circular lawn that was bright with moonlight, and ltere just beyond the shadows of the trees that closed all around it stood Nancy with a man who was holding her wrists m both hands . She strugglfd to free herself when she saw Neville, then, when she found that it was no good, she waited with hanging head. "Oh, ho, Miss Nancy!" said Neville, quietly, "so this is why you left me?" He looked from Nancy to her ' companion, and, with a start, recognised the. man he had seen with Mary last night. Eric drew Nancy nearer to him jealously, and faced Neville with his hdid thrown back. "Mr Hickley," he said, "I think I ought to tell you that Nancy and I am engaged, and have been for three months." "Your sense of duty -has come rather late m the day," remarked Neville. "Is this true, Nancy?" j Nancy had. taken refuge m tears. "I — i I was engaged to him," she sobbed. "And now he won't let me off." j "I'm afraid you've got yourself into a j bit of a scrape, then," said Neville, looking at her with twinkling eyes. "You should have remembered, the proverb about being off with the old love before' you are on with the new. There ! Cheer' up, little girl. You've changed your mind once, so I have no doubt you will change it again. Anyway, I'll leave you two now to come to a better understandi mg." I "Now for Mary!" he said to liimself, and he plunged back into tlie shrubbery as lightheartedly us a schoolboy, and almost ran back to the house. On the terrace seat sat a disconsolatelooking little figure that sprang up, as if for flight, at Neville's approach, then paused irresolutely. Neville sprang up r the terrace steps, and before Mary had I decided whether to run away or to stop he caught her hands. • "Oh, Mary, what a fool I've been I underhand now— at least-Mary, tell me quickly— is there any other man?" Mary stored at him m bewildered silence. "Are yotf talking of Nancy?" she ; said at last. "Of course, lots of men love her— but I don't think she wires "Nancy!" cried Neville, impatiently. Nancy can care for fifty million men, if she likes, so long its you will . promise only to care for me," and then Mary hid her face against his shoulder, for slie too understood at last.