has just arrived to stay, and her fiancé, Nelson, is coming too. She is quite jolly, and I thought she would be horrid. Many thanks for sendi

devoted,

e hansom. It was like Eleanor to tell me. She always gives herself away. I pity those refreshingly young pe

ittle Jezebel?

Mrs. Mounteagle,

rle," responds Miss Henderson, "sh

cing at her husband across the tea-table, with a brig

nd Erminie and Nelson are ho

since their visit. They were so peaceful, so loving

r a fortnight," says Eleanor, laughing. She pil

most hear the lazy hum of the bees, and smell the fresh mown grass. I am not in a silk tea jacket, but my old blue cotton frock with the tear in the elbow, you remember I caught it on a nail by the gate. Isn't it fun to make believe lik

ou used to. We are silent for a few moments, just holding each others' han

sit outside my window and chirp: 'Think of it! think of it! think of it!' till I grow quite angry, always recalling an unpleasant inciden

er in his arms. Eleanor laughs incredul

ing herself from his embrace

r is fl

Qui

ash with strange brilliancy; she

rush of colour to her cheeks, and

air of winter creeps through the hayfield behind Copthorne Farm-

, the red firelight playing on his tall slim figure, transforms him in Philip's eyes to a crimson Mephistopheles.

pillows for the new comer; he

et Eleanor, unconscious of the evil feelings she arouses, takes but little notice of her husband, and hangs upon Carol's words wi

e declares, when they are again alone. "He is so chatty

n when he looks at you out of those loathsome eyes, and talks rot enough t

e a friend that is not of your own choosing! My taste wasn't a thing t

mly but not unkindly on her shoulders. "Don't

er, though, to speak out than bottle it up inside. There! now you have got your reproac

tairs whistling. The refrain of the "Miller's" song is

r nobody,

dy care

s a moment at the cushions, then buries hi