her daughters to the flower - show, and there, naturally enough, was Mr. George Miller, very smartly dressed, a trifle self-conscious, and obviously anxious to be attentive to the whole party. The bright summer-day, the rich masses of colours, the sweet and ever-varying perfumes, and the cheerful music outside-all this was pleasant enough; and Violet, who was not sated with the ordinary sights and occupations of London life, was enjoying herself thoroughly, and was most friendly in her treatment of him. A rumour that some royal personages had arrived, and were going through one of the tents, caused a gentle rush of the crowd in that direction, and with the crowd went Lady North and her daughters; so that inadvertently Violet and Mr. Miller were left by themselves, if not quite alone. That did not make any alteration in her manner—she was deeply interested at the moment in a sensitive plant-but it did in his.

"Violet," said he, in a low voice, "I have nothing of yours that--that I can keep by me; will you give me a flower?"

She turned round with something of coldness in her manner.

"That would be flirtation, would it not?" she asked, with some little dignity.

"What is the use of raking up that old quarrel?" he said, in an injured way. "I thought that was to be forgotten."

46

Yes," she answered, in the same measured and clear fashion, "but not the lesson of it. I think it is better we should have a distinct understanding about that. I do not wish to do anything you can reproach me with afterwards; for who can tell what may happen?"

Her meaning was clear enough. She was determined to give him none of that "encouragement" on which he might presume to found a claim, or to substantiate a charge of fickleness and treachery. It came to this, then : if he liked to have their present re

it was distinctly to be recognised that she was not responsible. Now this was an intelligible position to be taken up by a young woman who did not find that she cared about a young man to that degree which would warrant her in encouraging his hopes; but it could not be expected to recommend itself to the young man.

"I think you are very hard on me," said he, rather gloomily.

Oh, don't think so!" she said, quickly, and with an anxious kindness in her eyes. "I don't mean to be so, at any rate. But it is not fair to you,

nor to myself, that that

"I see how it is," he said, bitterly. "You cannot forgive me for that one phrase."

"Indeed I have," she said, earnestly. Only it opened my eyes. Perhaps I was wrong in letting you go to рара. But you know you told me that I was absolutely unpledged-that it was all a 'perhaps '-that you were quite content to wait and see

"And so I am!" he said, with unusual decision of manner, and his voice was low and rapid. "I don't care what what happens ; I am too deeply pledged already; you can be as free as you like. Men have done more foolish things for smaller prizes. I will take my chance. And yet, I don't think most girls are as hard as that."

"I will give you a flower, if you wish it," she said.

She looked around, and at length descried a bit of blossom that had fallen or been cut off.

"Will that do?" she asked.

He took it from her, threw it on the ground, and kicked it aside.

"I don't want it from you in that way. I will wait until you can give me a flower without looking as if I had put you on the treadmill."

"Ah, well," she said, with a sigh, "I am sorry we should quarrel so. Shall we go and see where Lady North has gone?"

"Violet!" he said, "I-I beg your

yet it seems hard that you should be so proud and indifferent-and I get angry, that's a fact-but I am very sorry. Come, let us be friends again." "Very well," she said.

"Give me another bit of flower?" She began to laugh.

"Isn't this just a little too childish? You make me think I am back at Miss Main's again, and quarrelling over a bit of slate-pencil. The flowers don't belong to me."

"It may be childish, and very ridiculous, to you; but it isn't quite so to me. However, I will wait for that flower. Perhaps you will give it to me some day."

"I suppose you mean to tease me until I do?"

"If I thought that would get it for me, I would.'

"I have heard of girls being teased into an engagement-giving in through sheer weariness. I think it is rather dangerous. I should fancy the man would take his revenge out after the marriage; for of course he would look on her previous disinclination as mere perversity."

"I wish you would give me the chance," he said, with a bright look on his face. "You would see what revenge I should take."

The aspiration was an honest one. Young Miller had a fair and moderate notion of his own merits. He knew he could not paint fine pictures of his sweetheart, or write poetry about her, or do anything particularly romantic or imaginative; but he had heard in his time of these dilettante fellows marrying the objects of their adoration only to neglect them for flirtations with other women. He, now, was a plain and practical person; but he could assure his wife an honest and attentive husband, who would work hard for her, and see that she lived in good style. If he only had the chance, as he said, Violet would see what a husband he would make.

Unfortunately this remark of his only alarmed her. It seemed as though, whatever she might say to him, the

point; and the girl naturally blamed herself for so 66 encouraging" him. She immediately became rather reserved in manner; and insisted on going off in search of her friends.

They found them easily enough; but in strolling about the grounds, Mr. Miller had plenty of opportunities of talking to Violet by herself.

"I suppose you are going to the Royal Academy conversazione?" said he.

"Would it be making an appointment if I said I was?" she asked, with gentle malice.

"No, it would not; for I haven't got a card."

"Then I am going. Lady North will take Anatolia and me; papa doesn't care about it."

"I should like to go," young Miller said, wistfully. "I suppose Mr. Drummond would let me have his card for once?"

"I hope you won't ask him," said Violet, sharply.

"Why not?" he said, innocently "It is no novelty to him. He knows all those artist-fellows. What is a conversazione more or less to him? He does not go to one-fifth of the places he is asked to."

Oh, well," said Mr. Miller, carelessly, "I can easily get a card if I want to go, without asking Mr. Drummond. I know a twopenny-halfpenny sort of fellow called Lavender, who is good at everything but earning a farthing of his own money, and he will get me a card. I suppose a hundred will go to look at the Princes, and one to look at

"Then I hope you will be that one," said Violet, sweetly.

"You know what I shall go for," he said; and she turned away at that the conversation had again led up to one of those awkward climaxes, which seemed to pledge her more and more however definitely she protested.

So the days went by at this time; the young man paying her very nearly as much attention as though an engagement had existed between them; she secretly fearing, and yet sheltering herself behind repeated explanations that she was absolutely free, and unprejudiced by any of his hopes and aspirations. Occasionally, of course, she could not help being kind to him; for she really liked him; and his patient devotion to her moved her pity. Many a time she wished he would go; and then she hesitated to inflict on him the pain of going. It was altogether a dangerous position.

The days going by, tco, were gradually bringing the London season to an end; and people were talking of their autumn tours. Violet had not ventured to ask Lady North to let her accompany Mrs. Warrener to the Highlands; but she had spoken about this trip; and hinted that she would rather be going thither than to Venice. Mrs. Warrener had not ceased to entreat her to come with them.

One bright forenoon a pair of small greys were being driven briskly up Camberwell Grove by a young lady who seemed pleased enough with her task. It was a fresh, clear day in July; the yellow road ascending before her was barred across by the grey shadows of the chestnuts; here and there a limetree sweetened the air, for there had been rain in the morning. Her only companion was the man behind, who was doing his best to watch over a number of potted fuchsias which gave him the appearance of being an elderly cupid in a grove of flowers. The phaeton was pulled up at the gate leading to a certain boarding-school; and the man, struggling out from among the fuchsias, jumped down and went to the horses' heads.

young lady who went into the boardingschool; and she wore a tight-sleeved and tight-fitting dress of chocolate-coloured homespun, with a broad-brimmed hat and bold feather of the Sir Joshua Reynolds' period, just then coming into fashion; and altogether she presented so fine and commanding an appearance that the small schoolmistress, on coming in, was overcome with astonishment, and could only say

"Oh, Miss North!"

Yet Miss North was not an apparition -at least apparitions do not ordinarily shake one firmly by the hand, and say, with a bright smile

"You remember me? Have I grown? Oh, Miss Main, it is very strange to call on you; for the moment I came into the hall, I fancied I was going to be punished-I suppose you remem

ber

"Oh, yes, I remember," said the schoolmistress, with a shrewd smile, and yet she was still puzzled by the alteration in this old pupil of hers, and had scarcely the presence of mind to ask her to sit down.

SO

"But I thought I would bring something to propitiate you," this handsome young lady continued, with the greatest self-possession and cheerfulness, that you won't give me twenty pages of Minna von Barnhelm to translate-it is some fuchsias-they are outside—will you please to ask Mary Ann to fetch them in ?"

"Oh, that is so kind of you, Miss North," said the schoolmistress (she had not even yet sated her wonder and curiosity over the young lady's dress, and appearance and manner), "but I suppose you don't know Mary Ann has left us. She left to get married more than a year ago."

"I thought she would," said Miss North, calmly. "I used to write her love-letters for her. How much of Minna von Barnhelm should I have had to translate if you had found that out, Miss Main?"

"Indeed," said the schoolmistress, frankly, "I think you were the wickedest

"But I am not married yet, Miss Main," said the young lady, with heightened colour.

"It will not be long then, I dare say," replied the schoolmistress.

"Indeed it will be a very long time -it will be always and altogether," said Miss North, promptly.

"You mean never to get married?" "Certainly."

After that Miss Main thought she might as well send for the fuchsias; and when the flowers were brought in, she was greatly pleased by this instance of friendliness on the part of her old pupil, and she would have had her sit down and have some strawberries and cake. But Miss North could not wait to partake of these earthly joys.

"I am going on at once to Mr. Drummond's," she said.

"Mr. Drummond is not at home," said Miss Main, hoping to have an opportunity of showing Lady North's daughter to a later generation of scholars. "I saw him pass here about an hour ago."

"I know," said Violet ; "this is the morning he goes to that Society in Jermyn Street. It is Mrs. Warrener I am going to see."

So, with many a friendly word, and promise to repeat the visit, she got into the phaeton again and drove on up the hill. She found Mrs. Warrener alone, as she had expected. She took off her hat and put it on the table. Then she proposed they should go out into the garden.

"For I have something of great importance to say to you," she said, solemnly.

"Indeed!" remarked Mrs. Warrener, expecting to hear of another quarrel with Lady North.

"Oh, it is no laughing matter,"

this-Am I or am I not to get engaged to Mr. Miller?"

"Violet?" exclaimed Mrs. Warrener, astounded by the girl's direct habit of speech. "You cannot be talking seriously. Why should you ask such a question of me?"

"Because I have no one else to go to for advice," she answered, simply.

"But surely that is a matter on which no girl needs advice. It ought to be determined by your own feelings."

"If that were all, I should have no difficulty," said the young lady, not without some pride in her tone. "I don't wish to marry anybody. I would rather be free from all the-the bother and persecution——”

"Then why should you suffer it?"

"Well," said she, looking down, "perhaps you may have partly brought it on yourself by your own carelessness and you don't wish to—to appear-unkind

They had now got out into the garden.

"Violet," Mrs. Warrener said, distinctly, "this is the question: Do you really care for him?"

"N-no," the girl stammered. "Then why not tell him so?" "You cannot be going about insulting all your friends in that way." "All your friends are not asking you to marry them."

'Now, what do you really mean? her friend said, seriously. "Or what can he mean by such proposals? What sort of an engagement is it that binds him and leaves you free? And what sort of an engagement is it that does not promise marriage?”

"Well, that is what he proposes," said Violet, doggedly. "He knows quite well that I will not promise to marry him; for I do not wish to marry anybody. And he does not even talk

They walked about for a bit, Mrs. Warrener saying nothing. At last she said

"I think I see how it is. The notion of marriage frightens you-or you are too proud to like the idea of the submission and surrender of marriage-and Mr. Miller, being a shrewd young man, has found that out, so he wants you to enter into a vague engagement-which will not frighten you, or alarm you about the loss of your independence-and you apparently don't quite know what it means. Take care."

"Oh, but you don't know, Mrs. Warrener," the girl said, quite humbly, "you don't know what I think about these things, if you fancy I am so proud as that, or that I should like to be always independent. If I were to marry any man I should like to feel myself quite helpless beside himlooking to him always for guidance and wisdom-I should be his one worshipper, and everything he might do would be right to me. I should be ashamed of myself to even dream of independence. But then-but then-" she added, with her eyes still cast down, "the men you can admire and trust like that are not often met with-at least, for my part, I have only——"

"You must have met one, anyway," said Mrs. Warrener, with a kindly smile.

"Oh, no, not necessarily," the girl said, almost with alarm. "It is a fancy of mine-you know the nonsense that gets into a schoolgirl's head."

Mrs. Warrener, with such ability as she possessed, and with a wonderful and friendly patience, was trying to understand this girl and her odd and apparently contradictory sentiments. The only key to these that the worthy little woman could find was this-Here was a proud self-willed girl, who had a sweetheart whom she regarded with a more tender affection than she cared to disclose. Like most girls, she chose to be very reticent on that point; if questioned, she would answer with a stammering "N-no." On the other

these mystifications, and wishes her to promise to marry him. She rebels against this pressure put upon her; probably treats him with undeserved coldness, but all the same comes to a friend to see what the world would think of her entering into some sort of engagement. She wishes some one to tell her she can enter into this engagement without exposing herself to the suspicion-against which she revolts -that her secret affection is stronger than her pride.

Such was Mrs. Warrener's theory. It was ingenious enough, and it was but a natural deduction from what she had seen of the conduct of many girls in similar circumstances, only it was altogether wrong in the case of Violet North, and it was the parent of a terrible amount of mischief.

"Violet," said she, in her kindly way, "it is no use my advising you, for a girl never quite tells you what her real feelings are about a young man. You said you did not care about Mr. Miller "

"Perhaps I ought to have said that I like him very well," she said, looking down. "There is no doubt about that. I like him far better than any of the young men I have met, for he is less languid, and he does not patronise you, and talk to you as if you were a baby; he is earnest and sincere-and then, when you see how anxious he is to be kind to you

"Ah, yes," said Mrs. Warrener, with some little show of triumph, "I thought there was something behind all that reluctance of yours, Violet. It is the way with all you girls. You will admit nothing. You don't care for anybody. You positively hate the notion of being married. But all the same you go and submit to be married, just like your mothers before you, and there is an end of pretence then."

"I hope you don't think, Mrs. Warrener," said the girl, with flushed cheeks, "that I have been asking you to advise me to get married?"

"No, no, Violet," her friend said,