not commit myself to please my mother."

Sir Everard reached Hunsden Hall in time for luncheon. The old place
looked deserted and ruined. The half-pay Indian officer's poverty was
visible everywhere--in the time-worn furniture, the neglected grounds,
the empty stables, and the meager staff of old-time servants.

"Captain Hunsden is so poor that he will be glad to marry his daughter
to the first rich man who asks her. The Hunsden estate is strictly
entailed to the next male heir; he has only his pay, and she will be
left literally a beggar at his death."

His eyes flashed triumphantly at the thought. Harrie Hunsden stood in
the sunshine on the lawn, with half a score of dogs, big and little,
bouncing around her, more lovely, it seemed to the infatuated young
baronet, in her simple home-dress, than ever. No trace of yesterday's
fatiguing hunt, or last night's fatiguing dancing, was visible in that
radiant face.

But just at that instant Captain Hunsden advanced to meet him, with
Lord Ernest Strathmore by his side.

"What brings that idiot here?" Sir Everard thought. "How absurdly
early he must have ridden over!"

He turned to Miss Hunsden and uttered the polite common-place proper
for the occasion.

"I told you I never was fatigued," the young lady said, playing with
her dogs, and sublimely at her ease. "I am ready for a second hunt
to-day, and a ball to-night, and a picnic the day after. I should have
been a boy. It's perfectly absurd, my being a ridiculous girl, when I
feel as if I could lead a forlorn hope, or, like Alexander, conquer a
world. Come to luncheon."

"Conquer a world--come to luncheon? A pretty brace of subjects!" said
her father.

"Miss Hunsden is quite capable of conquering a world without having
been born anything so horrid as a boy," said Lord Ernest. "There are
bloodless conquests, wherein the conquerors of the world are conquered
themselves."

The baronet scowled. Miss Hunsden retorted saucily. She and Lord
Ernest kept up a brilliant wordy war.

He sat like a silent fool--like an imbecile, he said to himself,
glowering malignantly. He was madly in love, and he was furiously
jealous. What business had this ginger-whiskered young lordling
interloping here? And how disgustingly self-assured and at home he
was! He tried to talk to the captain, but it was a miserable failure.

It was a relief when a servant entered with the mailbag.

"The mail reaches us late," Captain H