more—"

"Mr. Haddington," said Claudia, "this is a painful scene. I trust nothing in my conduct has misled you. [This was known—how, I do not know—to her brothers as "Claudia's formula," but it is believed not to be uncommon.] But what you propose is utterly impossible."

"Why do you say that? Perhaps you do not know me well enough yet—but in time, surely?"

"Mr. Haddington," said Claudia, "let me speak plainly. Even if I loved you—which I don't and never shall, for immense admiration for a man's abilities is a different thing from love [Haddington looked somewhat soothed], I could never consent to accept the position of a pis-aller. That is not the Territon way." And Lady Claudia looked very proud.

"A pis-aller! What in the world do you mean?"

"Girls are not supposed to see anything. But do you think I imagine you would ever have honored me in this way unless a greater prize had been—had appeared to be out of reach?"

This was not fair; but it was near enough to the mark to make Haddington a little uneasy. Had Kate been free, he would certainly have been in doubt.

"I bear no malice about that," she continued, smiling, "only you mustn't pretend to be broken-hearted, you know."

"It is a great blow to me—a great blow."

Claudia looked as if she would like to say "Fudge!" but restrained herself and, with the daring characteristic of her, placed her hand on his arm.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Haddington. How it must gall you to see their happiness! I can understand you turning to me as if in self-protection. But you should not ask a lady to marry you because you're piqued with another lady. It isn't kind; it isn't, indeed."

Haddington was a little at loss.

"Indeed, you're wholly wrong. Lady Claudia. Indeed, if you come to that, I don't see that they are particularly rapturous."

"You don't mean you think they're unhappy? Mr. Haddington, I am so grieved!"

"Do you mean to say you don't agree with me?"

"You mustn't ask me. But, oh! I'm so sorry you think so too. Isn't it strange? So suited to one another—she so beautiful, he so clever, and both rich!"

"Miss Bernard is hardly rich, is she?"

"Not as Mr. Lane is, of course. She seems rich to me—forty thousand pounds, I think. Ah, Mr. Haddington, if only you had met her sooner!"

"I shouldn't have had much chance against Lane."

"Why do you say that? If you only knew—"

"What?"

"I mustn't tell you. How sad that it's too late!"

"Is it?"

"Of course. They're engaged!"

"An engagement isn't a marriage. If I thought—"

"Yes?"

"But I can't think of that now. Good-by, Claudia. We may not meet again."

"Oh, you won't go away? You mustn't let me drive you away. Oh, please, Mr. Haddington! Think, if you go, it must all come out! I should be so very, very distressed."

"If you ask me, I will try to stay."

"Yes, yes, stay—but forget all this. And never think again of the other—about them, I mean. You will stay?"

"Yes, I will stay," said Haddington.

"Unless it makes you too unhappy to see Eugene's triumph in Kate's love?"

"I don't believe much in that. If that's the only thing—but I must go. I see your brother coming up the hill."

"Yes, go; and I'll never tell that you tried me as—as a second string!"

"That's very unjust!" he protested, but more weakly.

"No, it isn't. I know your heart, and I do pity you."

"Perhaps I shall not ask for pity, Lady Claudia!"

"Oh, you mustn't think of that!"

"It was you who put it in my head."

"Oh, what have I done!"

Haddington smiled, and with a last squeeze of her hand turned and walked away.

Claudia put her handkerchief into her pocket and went to meet her brother.

Haddington returned alone to the house. Although suffering under a natural feeling of annoyance at discovering that he was not foremost in Claudia's heart, as he had led himself to suppose, he was yet keenly alive to the fact that the interview had its consolatory aspect. In the first place, there is a fiction that a lady who respects herself does not fall in love with a man whom she suspects to be in love with somebody else; and Haddington's mind, though of no mean order in some ways, was not of a sort to rise above fictions. He comforted his vanity with the thought that Claudia had, by a conscious effort, checked a nascent affection for him, which, if allowed unimpeded growth, would have developed into a passion. Again, that astute young lady had very accurately conjectured his state of mind, while her pledge of secrecy disposed of the difficulty in the way of a too rapid transfer of his attentions. If Claudia did not complain, nay, counseled such action, who had a right to object? It was true she had eagerly disclaimed any intention of inciting him to try to break the ties that now bound Miss Bernard. But, he reflected, the important point was not the view she took of the morality of such an attempt, on which her authority was nought, but her opinion of its chances of success, which was obviously not wholly unfavorable. He did not trouble himself to inquire closely into any personal motive she may have had. It was enough for him that she, a person likely to be well informed, had allowed him to see that, to her thinking, the relations between the engaged pair were of a character to inspire in the mind of another aspirant hope rather than despair.

Having reached this conclusion, Haddington recognized that his first step must be to put Miss Bernard in touch with the position of affairs. It may seem a delicate matter to hint to your host's fiancée that if she, on mature reflection, likes you better than him, there is still time; but Haddington was not afflicted with delicacy. After all, in such a case a great deal depends upon the lady, and Haddington, though doubtful how Kate would regard a direct proposal to break off her engagement, was yet tolerably confident that she would not betray him to Eugene.

He found her seated on the terrace that was the usual haunt of the ladies in the forenoon and the scene of Eugene's dutiful labors as reader-aloud. Kate was not looking amiable; and scarce six feet from her there lay open on the ground a copy of the Laureate's works.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Bernard?"

"Oh, no. You see, I am alone. Mr. Lane was here just now, but he's gone."

"How's that?" asked Haddington, seating himself.

"He got a telegram, read it, flung his book away, and rushed off."

"Did he say what it was about?"

"No; I didn't ask him."

A pause ensued. It was a little difficult to make a start.

"And so you are alone?"

"Yes, as you see."

"I am alone too. Shall we console one another?"

"I don't want consolation, thanks," said Kate, a little ungraciously. "But," she added more kindly, "you know I'm always glad of your company."

"I wish I could think so."

"Why don't you think so?"

"Well, Miss Bernard, engaged people are generally rather indifferent to the rest of the world.

"Even to telegrams?"

"Ah! poor Lane!"

"I don't think Mr. Lane is in much need of pity."

"No—rather of envy."

Kate did not look displeased.

"Still, a man is to be pitied if he does not appreciate—"

"Mr. Haddington!"

"I beg your pardon. I ought not to have said that. But it is hard—there, I am offending you again!"

"Yes, you must not talk like that. It's wrong; it would be wrong even if you meant it."

"Do you think I don't mean it?"

"That would be very discreditable—but not so bad."

"You know I mean it," he said, in a low voice. "God knows I would have said nothing if—"

"If what?"

"I shall offend you more than ever. But how can I stand by and see that?" and Haddington pointed with fine scorn to the neglected book.

Kate was not agitated. She seldom was. In a tone of grave rebuke,