-"you are probably not aware
that I have asked Miss Wastneys to be my wife?"

"I was not aware, Mr Maplestone, that Miss Wastneys had accepted that
offer."

"She has not. That is just the point. If she had, I should not need
help. But she is going to! That is why I am so anxious to find her--to
prevent further waste of time."

Braced against my cushions, I gasped in mingled exasperation and dismay.
That tone of certainty impressed me against my will. It required an
effort to preserve an unruffled appearance.

"I cannot give you any help, Mr Maplestone. To the best of my belief,
you are wrong in your expectations."

"Evelyn--Miss Wastneys is your niece, I believe?"

I bowed, mentally quoting the orphan's qualification:--

"Sort of!"

"May I ask if she has confided in you--told you the history of our
acquaintance?"

For one moment I hesitated, then:--

"I think I may say that I know practically all that there is to tell."

He leant forward suddenly, rested an arm on the table, and fixed me with
eager eyes.

"Miss Harding, I want a friend! I want an ally. I came here to-day,
hoping to find one in you. Will you be on my side?"

I drew back; but, before I had time to protest, he hurled another crisp,
sharp question at my head:--

"Do you love your niece?"

The question appealed to me. I answered promptly, as it were mentally
licking my lips:--

"I _do_! I may say I am much attached to Evelyn. She has faults
(judicially), but she is a pleasant, well-meaning girl. She has been
(unctuously) very kind to me."

"She is kind to everyone," he said shortly, "except myself! Of course
she has faults! Plenty of them. You could not know her without seeing
that."

I glared, outraged. Oh, indeed! If my faults are so many and so
obvious, why on earth does he--?

"You are very keen-sighted for a lover, Mr Maplestone," I said coldly.
"If I were Evelyn, I should prefer the idealism which is usual under the
circumstances. But perhaps you do not pose as an ordinary lover."

"I don't know," he said shortly--"I don't know. This is a new
experience to me. I can only say one thing"--his voice softened,
swelled into deep, low notes--"she is my life. She means everything--
the beginning and the end. I shall fight on and on until she is mine."

Miss Harding coughed, and twitched at her shawl, and blinked at the
ceiling, and feebly shook her grey head.

"It is a pity," she said weakly, "to make too s