s modesty and humility with reference to her, he
had believed to be quite on the cards. So he had written to her. The note
had been taken up to the vicarage by the footman, and had been brought
into the dining-room by the vicarial parlour-maid, just as the three
ladies were finishing breakfast, and after the vicar himself had left the
room.

"A note from Kynaston, please 'm," says rosy-cheeked Hannah, holding it
forth before her, upon a small japanned tray, as an object of general
family interest and excitement.

"For your master, Hannah?" says old Mrs. Daintree. "Are they waiting for
an answer? You will find him in his study."

"No, ma'am, it's for Miss Vera."

"Dear me!" with a suspicious glance across the table; "how very odd!"

Vera takes up the note and opens it.

"May I have the crest, auntie?" clamours Tommy before she had read three
words of it.

"Is it about the horse he has offered you to ride?" asks his mother.

But Vera answers nothing; she gets up quietly, and leaves the room
without a word.

"Extraordinary!" gasps Mrs. Daintree; "Vera's manners are certainly most
abrupt and unlady-like at times, Marion. I think you ought to point it
out to her."

Marion murmurs some unintelligible excuse and follows her sister--leaving
the unfortunate Tommy a prey to his grandmother's tender mercies. So
brilliant an opportunity is not, of course, to be thrown away. Tommy's
fingers, having incontinently strayed in the direction of the
sugar-basin, are summarily slapped for their indiscretion, and an
admonition is straightway delivered to him in forcible language
concerning the pains and penalties which threaten the ulterior destiny of
naughty little boys in general and of such of them in particular who are
specially addicted to the abstraction of lumps of sugar from the
breakfast-table.

Meanwhile, Marion has found her sister in the adjoining room standing up
alone upon the hearthrug with Sir John Kynaston's letter in her hands.
She is not reading it now, she is looking steadfastly into the fire. It
has fulfilled--nay, more than fulfilled--her wishes. The triumph of her
success is pleasant to her, and has brought a little more than their
usual glow into her cheeks, and yet--Heaven knows what vague and
intangible dreams and fancies have not somehow sunk down chill and cold
within her during the last five minutes.

Gratified ambition--flattered vanity--the joy of success--all this she
feels to the full; but no