"You are wanted," Mr Rayton said, offering his arm, which Betty, with an excuse to her ancient admirer, took, saying, "By whom?"

He did not immediately answer-did not speak till they had gained the doorway, and then he paused.

"That was a fiction, Miss Stevens; but I hope you will forgive me, for it was most evidently necessary you should be got away out of this hot room. Are you not grateful?"

"To speak plain truth, I am. I am hot and tired, and have a very bad headache—all of which is no doubt written on my face; but having gained this stepping - stone to safety, what are we going to do next?"

"Are you sufficiently at home here to take me to Mr Arbuthnot's study? That is the only place I can think of where I shall be able to get you a chair, and insist on your remaining quiet for half an hour. Also, are you brave enough to live. through all that will be said of us, if some one else thinks of the same thing, and finds us there?"

"Mr Rayton,” replied Betty, impressively, "I feel brave enough to dare anybody and anything for the sake of a few minutes' quiet and rest. Oh, this is comfort!" as they opened the door, and found themselves in a small, unlighted room, the windows wide open to the hot summer night. "One candle, Mr Rayton, please, and no more, and then ringNo, I will go myself, and ask Jessie's maid to bring me some eau-de-Cologne." In a few seconds she had returned, the bottle in her hand. "Now, Mr

Р

Rayton, please, do not let me keep you any longer."

"No; I am not going to be sent away just yet," he replied, pleasantly; and he drew a chair up to the window. "I am very glad to sit here and rest for a little also." There was a moment's pause, and then Mr Rayton, turning his head from the contemplation of the world outside, said suddenly, "Have you known Miss Mainwaring long?"

A faint gleam of amusement shone in Betty's eyes at his question, but she dropped them directly; and when she lifted them again the light had quite died out of them.

For Elizabeth Stevens, also, was not quite the same as she had been six months ago,-was softer, more womanly, for her contact with Delicia Mainwaring. "Miss Mainwaring!" she repeated.

me see.

"Let

We have known her ever since we passed out of the nebulous state, and appeared in the firmament of Anne Square as stars of magnitude."

Mr Rayton did not say anything for a second; he had noticed the amusement in Betty's eyes, and had winced at it.

Elizabeth marked the wince, and guessing the cause, was sorry for it, and did her best now to rectify her error. Without heeding his silence, she continued speaking, as if carrying out the train of thought. "She is a good woman-not good in its narrow, but its broadest, widest sense!"

"Yes," he said, forgetting his annoyance, and rising to the bait offered him. "And there is something sad about her life, is there not? I am afraid she must be terribly lonely."

"Until we knew her so well, I think weeks often went by without her seeing any one. And it is sad," she added, reflectively, "for any woman to be so utterly independent of every one."

Mr Rayton laughed. "Miss Stevens advocating women being dependent!" He spoke lightly, but something in his words brought a crimson spot into Betty's cheeks.

"From which speech, I suppose, I may infer that you consider me independent; and also, that you look upon the word as à term of reproach ?"

Philip did not answer-perhaps scarcely heeded her words his eyes having again turned to the summer sky; but Betty went on speaking more rapidly.

"That is the unjust judgment that the world always so readily passes on any woman who does not do exactly as all the others do. If," she said, passionately, "I had come in here and passed the time in flirtation-playing at friendship, lovemaking, or any other of the amusements with which the world is accustomed to while away the time it would have had no fault to find!"

Philip turned round, startled at her vehemence. "Mr Rayton,” she said, leaning forward, her slender hands clasped together, her eyes fixed upon his face and such eyes as they were too! They surprised him for the moment into involuntary admiration. "Mr Rayton," she said, "do you believe that it is pleasant for a woman to feel that she stands aloof from her fellows? Whatever the cause may be, believe me, it is a terrible misfortune, and that she suffers accordingly. And it may

be that it is from no fault of her own; it may be that it is as impossible to be averted as is the loss of beauty or the lack of intellect. But whatever the cause, you must see for yourself how lonely it is to stand, as it were, apart from both men and women, having all the weakness of the one sex, and yet probably not possessing any of the strength of the other." She ceased suddenly, and her voice changing"We are getting on to very serious subjects," she said. "I think it is quite time we returned to the pleasures of life.'

Scarcely knowing what he did, Mr Rayton rose up and offered his arm. "If you are rested?" he said, doubtfully.

"Yes, as much rested as it is possible to be when one is enjoying one's self," she replied.

And Philip Rayton marvelled as he looked at the girl by his side, and wondered-wondered. But yet, all the same, the conclusion at which he arrived was, that the woman whose great dark eyes had seemed as if they would read his very soul—the woman, the mournful echoes of whose voice were still ringing in his ears, was, however appearances might be against it, the real Elizabeth Stevens.

It was with a sigh of relief that he found himself once more in the ball-room by Miss Mainwaring's side, Betty having left him to speak to some hitherto unperceived friends; for whatever pity he might feel, these turbulent, troubled spirits—these tragedy queens in real life-gave no pleasure to the man who had himself lived through the burden and heat of the day.

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CHAPTER XIX.

SOME THINGS ARE SOONER MARRED THAN MADE.

"Marriage is a desperate thing. The frogs in Esop were extremely wise; they had a great mind to some water, but they would not leap into a well because they could not get out again.”

Two years have passed away since we first made acquaintance with Delicia Mainwaring between the lights on that foggy November afternoon, in the old-fashioned house in Anne Square; very nearly eighteen months since that hot midsummer morning, when, in gloomy St Margaret's, Cyril Stevens had taken Cicely Arbuthnot's hand in his, and had sworn to love and cherish her for so long as he should live.

The evening on which we renew our acquaintance with them is still and sad, with a mournful wailing wind, which tells of coming rain; and Cicely, lying on a sofa, a novel in her hand, gives a nervous shudder as she hears it, and then immediately tries to forget it, by returning to the pages her book. The room in which she lies is a small,

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