why must you marry him?" asks Portia, opening her large black fan
in an indolent fashion, and waving it to and fro.

The sun retiring

"On waves of glory, like an ocean god,"

flings over her a pale, pink halo, that renders even more delicately
fine the beauty of her complexion. A passing breeze flings into her lap
a few rose-leaves from a trailing tree that has climbed the balcony, and
is now nodding drowsily as the day slowly dies. She is feeling a little
sorry for Dulce, who is reciting her family history with such a doleful
air.

"Well, I needn't, you know," says that young lady, lightly; "not if I
don't choose, you know. I have got until I am twenty-one to think about
it, and I am only eighteen now. I daresay I shall cry-off at the last
moment; indeed, I am sure I shall," with a wilful shake of the head,
"because Roger, at times, is quite too much, and utterly insupportable,
yet, in that case, I shall vex Uncle Christopher, and I do so love Uncle
Christopher!"

"But he had nothing to do with the arrangement, had he?"

"Nothing. It was his brother, Uncle Humphrey, who made the mistake. He
left the property between us on condition we married each other.
Whichever of us, at twenty-one, declines to carry out the agreement,
gets L500 a year off the property, and the rest goes to the happy
rejected. It is a charming place, about six miles from this, all lakes
and trees, and the most enchanting gardens. I daresay Roger would be
delighted if I would give him up, but" (vindictively) "I shan't. He
shall never get those delicious gardens all to himself."

"What an eccentric will," says Portia.

"Well, hardly that. The place is very large, and requires money to keep
it up. If he had divided the income between us, and we had been at
liberty to go each our own way, the possessor of the house and lands
would not have had enough money to keep it in proper order. I think it
rather a just will. I wish it had been differently arranged, of course,
but it can't be helped now."

"Is he your first cousin? You know I have heard very little about this
branch of my family, having lived so long in India."

"No, my second cousin. Fabian is Uncle Christopher's heir, but if--if he
died, Roger would inherit title and all. That is another reason why I
hate him. Why should he have even a distant claim to anything that
belongs to Fabian?"

"But, my dear girl, you are not going to marry a man you hate?" says
Portia, sitting u