'She does not mean it. I am sure she loves you dearly. You know her manner. Even to me she's like an icicle.'

'I know she is; but a fellow wants a little outward show now and then a hint that it's all right. Hang it! we are fools enough without being told so every day to our faces.'

'She will be very sorry when you are gone.'

'She has got Phil Relf to solace her.'

I

'What, are you jealous? never thought that you would have been that.'

'Jealous! I jealous of Relf!' And he laughed so loud and merrily that they gathered round him, and begged to join in the joke. But the joke somehow fell away, and to their laughter there succeeded a little pause; a gap that seemed a forecast of coming troubles; and then the door opened, and George announced Mrs. Gawton and Mr. Relf.

A woman entered, under the usual height, with no show of dress; only a pale grey silk, tight fitting to a figure, if anything, too full for beauty, with just so much swansdown round the throat as softened the almost stern plainness of the silk, a feathery fringe circling with jealous tenderness the first glow of flesh that peeped above-so fair, so white, as though its dainty tissue shrank from the rudeness of the lamplight that fell and flickered on so rare a playmate, veiling its coyness with grey shadows wantoning among the dimples that would catch them in their dance; a wondrous piece of living softness, twin sister to a crystal warmed to life. A face to rivet thought, to love, to dream of, worship, haunt one's days to come, and then to dread; a face of woman's softness at her softest,

fair as the fairest, rounded so richly as to carry love-thoughts in its every outline; dark hair that lay about the temples; eyes, showered on by lashes seldom raised, but then jealous to show their treasures fully open, so that the space below seemed one bright gleam of soft grey dreamy light, that sparkled, spoke, and faded with an answer snatched from the inmost soul. So far all woman, love, and softness; then below-the mouth chilling the warmth that cradled it, hard lined, creasing the skin in furrows that showed sharp and angry against the fairness of the facea mouth that summed up all the woman in 'I will!'

To men, Adelaide Gawton was an admiration, at a distance-an enthusiasm that cooled and chilled as the acquaintance ripened-a fascination that strangely held its own amongst them, but ever crept away outside the danger-limit that lay hidden, scarce defined, but lay beneath her fairest moods. To women she was hateful-hated; their queen against themselves; a shell that bruised their pretty feathers, for ever tearing off their mysteries of smiles and looks, those dainty nets that make a woman all she is not, more than all she is, to men reading their cherished secrets, and flaunting them for arms against their owners. No wonder that they spoke, and thought, and looked against her.

Yet she was good, too good, this Woman in her friendship when she found it, and would lend her softest kindness to the ones she cared for, and stand beside them true as the steel that girt the warriors of old days; and it was evil work to thwart her bravery when she armed herself to battle for her friends.

He who came with her was a tall, good-looking man of some