And Miss Douglas shook in every limb while she listened with a wan, weary face and white lips, parted in a rigid smile. It was not that she was unaccustomed to solicitations of a like nature; whatever might be her previous experience, scarcely an hour had passed since she sustained a similar attack and surely to accept an offer of marriage ought to be more subversive of the nervous system than to refuse; yet she could hardly have betrayed deeper emotion had she been trembling in the balance between life and death.

That was a brave heart of hers, or it must have failed to keep its own rebellion down so firmly, and gather strength to answer in a calm, collected voice

"There are some things it is better not to think about, for they can never be, and this is one of them."

How little she knew what was passing in his mind! How little she suspected that her sentence was his reprieve! And yet his selflove was galled. He had made a narrow escape, and was thankful, no doubt, but felt somewhat disappointed, too, that his danger had not been greater still.

"Do you mean it?" said he. "Well, you'll forgive my presumption, and-and-you won't forget I asked you."

"Forget!"

It was all she said; but a man must have been both blind and deaf not to have marked the tone in which those syllables were uttered, the look that accompanied them. Daisy brandished his hat, thinking it high time to go, lest his sentence should be commuted, and his doom revoked.

She put her hand to her throat, as if she must choke; but mastered her feelings with an effort, forcing herself to speak calmly and distinctly now, on a subject that must never be approached again.

"Do not think I undervalue your offer," she said, gathering fortitude with every word; "do not think me hard, or changeable, or unfeeling. If you must not make me happy, at least you will have made me very proud; and if everything had turned out differently, I do hope I might have proved worthy to be your wife. You're not angry with me, are you? And you won't hate me because it's impossible?"

"Not the least!" exclaimed Daisy eagerly. "Don't think it for a moment! Please not to make yourself unhappy about me."

"I am worthy to be your friend," she continued, saddened, and it may be a little vexed by this remarkable exhibition of self-denial; "and as a friend I feel I owe you some explanation beyond a bare

'No, I won't.' It ought rather to be 'No, I can't; because-because,

to tell you the honest truth, I have promised somebody else!" "I wish you joy, with all my heart!" he exclaimed gaily, and not the least like an unsuccessful suitor. "I hope you'll be as happy as the day is long! When is it to be? the wedding, won't you?"

You'll send me an invitation to

Her heart was very sore. He did not even ask the name of his fortunate rival, and he could hardly have looked more pleased, she thought, if he had been going to marry her himself.

"I don't know about that," she answered, shaking her head sadly. "At any rate, I shall not see you again for a long time. Good-bye, Daisy," and she held out a cold hand that trembled very much.

"Good-bye," said he, pressing it cordially. "I shall never forget your kindness. Good-bye."

Then the door shut, and he was gone.

Blanche Douglas sank into a sofa, and sat there looking at the opposite wall, without moving hand or foot, till the long summer's day waned into darkness and her servant came with lights. She neither wept, nor moaned, nor muttered broken sentences, but remained perfectly motionless, like a statue, and in all those hours she asked herself but one question—“Do I love this man? and, if so, how can I ever bear to marry the other?"

CHAPTER XXVI.

AFTERNOON TEA.

"I WISH you'd come, Daisy. You've no idea what it is, facing all those swells by oneself!"

"I have not the cheek," was Daisy's reply. "They would chaff one so awfully, if they knew. No, Bill, I'll see you through anything but that."

"Then I must show the best front I can without a support," said the other ruefully. "Why can't she let me off these tea-fights? They're cruelly slow. I don't see the good of them."

"She does," replied Daisy. "Not a woman in London knows what she is about better than Mrs. Lushington.

"How d'ye mean?" asked his less worldly-minded friend. "Why, you see," explained Daisy, "one great advantage of living in this wicked town is, that you've no duty towards your neighbour. People don't care two straws what you do, or how as you keep your own line without crossing theirs.

you do it, so long They'll give you

the best of everything, and ask for no return, if only you'll pretend to be glad to see them when you meet, and not forget them when you go away. That's the secret of morning visits, card-leaving, weddingpresents, and the whole of the sham. Now Mrs. Lushington goes everywhere, and never has a ball, nor a drum, nor even a large dinner-party of her own, but she says to her friends, 'I love you dearly, I can't exist without you. Come and see me every Wednesday, except the Derby day, all the London season through, from five to seven p.m. I'll swear to be at home, and I'll give you a cup of tea! So, for nine-pen'orth of milk, and some hot water, she repays the hospitalities of a nation. She's pleased, the world is gratified, and nobody's bored but you. It's all humbug, that's the truth, and I'm very glad I'm so soon to be out of it!"

"But you won't leave the regiment?" said his brother officer kindly.

"Not if I know it!" was the hearty response. "Norah likes soldiering, and old Macormac doesn't care what we do, if we only visit him in the hunting season. Besides, my uncle put that in the conditions when he 'parted,' which he did freely enough, I am bound to admit, considering all things."

"You've not been long about it," observed Soldier Bill in a tone of admiration. "It's little more than a month since you pulled through after that 'facer' at Punchestown; and now, here you are, booked to one lady, after proposing to another, provided with settlements, trousseau, bridesmaids, and very likely a bishop to marry you. Hang it, Daisy, I've got an uncle smothered in lawn; I'll give him the straight tip, and ask him to tie you up fast."

"You'll have to leave the Park at once," was Daisy's reply, "or you'll be returned absent when the parade is formed. You know, Bill, you daren't be late, for your life."

The two young men were by this time at Albert Gate, having spent a pleasant half-hour together on a couple of penny chairs, while the strange medley passed before them that throngs Hyde Park on every summer's afternoon. Daisy was far happier than he either hoped or deserved. After Satanella's refusal, he had felt at liberty to follow the dictates of his own heart, and lost no time in prosecuting his suit with Norah Macormac. The objections that might have arisen from want of means were anticipated by his uncle's unlooked-for liberality, and he was to be married as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made, though, in consideration of his late doings, the engagement was at present to be kept a profound

secret.

VOL. VIII., N.S. 1872.

U U

Notwithstanding some worldly wisdom, Daisy could believe that such secrets divided amongst half-a-dozen people would not become the property of half-a-hundred.

In a mood like his, a man requires no companion but his own thoughts. We will rather accompany Soldier BiH, as he picks his way into Belgravia, stepping daintily over the muddy crossings, cursing the water-carts, and trying to preserve the polish of his boots, up to Mrs. Lushington's door.

Yet into those shining boots his heart seemed almost sinking, when he marked a long line of carriages in the streets, a crowd of footmen on the steps and pavement. No man alive had better nerve than Bill, to ride, or fight, or swim, or face any physical danger; but his hands turned cold, and his face hot, when about to confront strange ladies, either singly or in masses; and for him, the rustling of muslin was as the shaking of a standard to the inexperienced charger, a signal of unknown danger, a flutter of terror and dismay.

Nevertheless, he mastered his weakness, following his own name resolutely up-stairs, in a white heat, no doubt, yet supported by the calmness of despair. Fortunately, he found his hostess at her drawing-room door. The favourable greeting she accorded him would have re-assured the most diffident of men.

"You're a good boy," she whispered, with a squeeze of his hand. "I was almost afraid you wouldn't come. Stay near the door, while I do the civil to the arch-duchess. I'll be back directly. I've got something very particular to ask you."

So, while Mrs. Lushington did homage (in French) to the archduchess, who was old, fat, good-humoured, and very sleepy, Bill took up a position from which he could pass the inmates of the apartment in review. Observing his welcome by their hostess, and knowing who he was, two or three magnificent ladies thought it not derogatory to afford him a gracious bow; and as they forbore to engage him in discourse-a visitation of which Bill had fearful misgivings he soon felt sufficiently at ease to inspect unconcernedly, and in detail, the several individuals who constituted the crush.

It was a regular London gathering, in the full-tide of the season, consisting of the, best-dressed, best-looking, and idlest people in town. There seemed an excess of ladies, as usual; but who would complain of a summer market that it was over-stocked with flowers? While of the uglier sex, the specimens were either very young or very mature. There was scarcely a man to be seen between thirty and forty, but a glut of young gentlemen, some too much and some too little at their ease, with a liberal sprinkling of ancient dandies, irre

proachable in manners, and worthier members of society, we may be permitted to hope, than society believed. A few notabilities were thrown in, of course: the arch-duchess aforesaid; a missionary, who had been tortured by the Chinese, dark, sallow, and of a physiognomy that went far to extenuate the cruelty of the Celestials; a lady who had spent two years at Thebes, and perhaps for that reason, dressed almost as low at the Egyptian Sphinx; a statesman out of office; a celebrated preacher at issue with his bishop; a foreign minister; a London banker; and a man everybody knew, who wrote books nobody read. Besides these, there was the usual complement of ladies who gave, and ladies who went to, balls; married women addicted to flirting; single ladies not averse to it; stout mammas in gorgeous apparel; tall girls with baby-faces promising future beauty; a powdered footman winding, like an eel, through the throng; Frank Lushington himself, looking at his watch to see how soon it would be over; and pretty Bessie Gordon, fresh and smiling, superintending the tea.

All this Bill took in, wondering. It seemed such a strange way of spending a bright summer's afternoon, in weather that had come on purpose for cricket, boating, yachting, all sorts of out-of-door pursuits. Putting himself beside the question, for he felt as much on duty as if he had the belt on in a barrack-yard, it puzzled him to discover the spell that brought all these people together, in a hot room, at six o'clock in the day. Was it sheer idleness, or the love of talking, or only the follow-my-leader instinct of pigs and sheep? Catching sight of General St. Josephs and Miss Douglas conversing apart in a corner, he determined that it must be a motive stronger than any of these; and looking down on her broad deep shoulders, marvelled how such motive might affect his next neighbour, a lady of sixty years, weighing some sixteen stone.

It is fair to suppose, therefore, that Bill was as yet himself untouched. His intimacy with Mrs. Lushington, while sharpening his wits and polishing his manners, served, no doubt, to dispel those illusions of romance that all young men are prone to cherish, more or less; and Soldier Bill, with his fresh cheeks and simple heart, believed he was becoming a thorough philosopher, an experienced man of the world, rating human weaknesses at their real value, and walking about the battle of life sheathed in armour of proof. Honest Bill! How little he dreamt that his immunity was only a question of time. The hour had not yet come-nor the woman!

Far different was St. Josephs. If ever man exulted in bondage and seemed proud to rattle his chains, that man was the captive