owing with
approval.

"Yes, I have arranged to go on with practice in my uncle's office. I
remember what you said about a dilettante life."

"Why, I never said anything of the kind."

"But you looked it. It is all the same."

They had come to the crown of the hill, and stood looking over the
intervales to the purple mountains. Irene was deeply occupied in tying
up with grass a bunch of wild flowers. Suddenly he seized her hand.

"Irene!"

"No, no," she cried, turning away. The flowers dropped from her hand.

"You must listen, Irene. I love you--I love you."

She turned her face towards him; her lips trembled; her eyes were full
of tears; there was a great look of wonder and tenderness in her face.

"Is it all true?"

She was in his arms. He kissed her hair, her eyes--ah me! it is the old
story. It had always been true. He loved her from the first, at Fortress
Monroe, every minute since. And she--well, perhaps she could learn to
love him in time, if he was very good; yes, maybe she had loved him
a little at Fortress Monroe. How could he? what was there in her to
attract him? What a wonder it was that she could tolerate him! What
could she see in him?

So this impossible thing, this miracle, was explained? No, indeed!
It had to be inquired into and explained over and over again, this
absolutely new experience of two people loving each other.

She could speak now of herself, of her doubt that he could know his own
heart and be stronger than the social traditions, and would not mind, as
she thought he did at Newport--just a little bit--the opinions of other
people. I do not by any means imply that she said all this bluntly, or
that she took at all the tone of apology; but she contrived, as a woman
can without saying much, to let him see why she had distrusted, not the
sincerity, but the perseverance of his love. There would never be any
more doubt now. What a wonder it all is.

The two parted--alas! alas! till supper-time!

I don't know why scoffers make so light of these partings--at the foot
of the main stairs of the hotel gallery, just as Mrs. Farquhar was
descending. Irene's face was radiant as she ran away from Mrs. Farquhar.

"Bless you, my children! I see my warning was in vain, Mr. King. It is
a fatal walk. It always was in our family. Oh, youth! youth!" A shade of
melancholy came over her charming face as she turned alone towards the
spring.

X. LONG BRANCH, OCEAN GROVE

Mrs. Farquhar, C