en glance, said good-bye to Trevor, and
turned away.

"I must congratulate you," said Trevor, as the young man and the girl
walked up the little path to the house.

"What for?" she asked. She raised her eyes full of dumb misery to his
face.

"For having won a success, and a very honourable one."

"Oh, don't ask me any more," she said; "please, please don't speak of
it. I thought I should be so happy to-day."

"But does not this make you happy? I do not understand."

"It makes me terribly miserable. I cannot explain. Please don't ask me."

"I won't; only just let me say that, whatever it is, I am sorry for
you."

He held out his hand. The next moment he had taken hers. Her hand, which
had been trembling, lay still in his palm. He clasped his own strong,
firm hand over it.

"I wish I could help you," he said, in a low voice, and then they both
entered the house.

Mrs. Trevor, through the little latticed window in the tiny
drawing-room, had witnessed this scene.

"What?" she said to herself. "Is my boy really falling in love with that
nice, interesting, but unhappy girl? Of course, I shall not oppose him;
but I almost wish it were not to be."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE STORY ACCEPTED.

Tea was ready prepared. The sun came out after the heavy shower, and
Florence found the Trevors even more kind and agreeable than they had
been at lunch. When the meal was over, Trevor called his mother out of
the room. He spoke to her for a few moments alone, and then she
re-entered the little drawing-room.

Florence was seated by the open window, looking out. She was resting her
chin on the palm of her hand as she gazed across the rose-garden. At
that moment Trevor went quietly by. He stooped to pick one or two roses;
then he turned and looked at Florence. Florence smiled very faintly, and
a rush of colour came into Trevor's face. Mrs. Trevor then came up to
Florence and spoke.

"I do it because my son wishes it," she said, "and I also do it because
I take an interest in you. He has told me of your great success in the
literary market. You, young and inexperienced, have had an article
accepted by so great a magazine as the _Argonaut_. You scarcely know
what an immense success you have won. I did not, of course, understand
what your occupation in London was likely to be; but if you are to be a
writer, why not come and live with me here? I have a nice little room
which I can offer you, and this drawing-room will always