m his lips. The weed fell from his
fingers to the ground, and Cora set her slippered heel upon it, as if
it were an enemy, and laughed triumphantly.

"Now we are on a level," she cried. "Do you suppose I intend to give
you that advantage over me?"

"It seems not," with a shrug expressive of resignation and a smile
hidden by his mustache.

He was not the man to be angered, or even ruffled, by these little
feminine onslaughts. In fact, they rather pleased and amused him, and
he had become well accustomed to Cora's "little ways," as he called
them. Deprived of his cigar, he thrust his hands into his pockets and
whistled softly.

"Lucian, if you don't stop looking so comfortable, and content, and
altogether don't-care-ish, I shall do something very desperate," she
exclaimed, pettishly.

"No?" raising his eyebrows in mock incredulity; "you don't tell me. I
thought you were in a little heaven of your own, Mrs. Arthur."

"Oh! you did? Very clever of you. Well, Mr. Davlin, has it occurred to
you that heaven might not be a congenial climate for me?"

"Not while your wings are so fresh, surely? You have scarcely entered
your paradise, fair peri."

"Haven't I?" ironically. "Well, I am tired of manna, anyhow." Cora was
not always strictly elegant in her choice of expressions. "Now,
Lucian, stop parleying, and tell me, when is this going to end?"

"When?"

He stopped and looked down at her intently. Twice they had traversed
the terrace, and now they paused at the termination furthest from the
house. Just before them a diminutive flight of stone steps led down to
a narrow graveled walk, that skirted a velvety bit of lawn, and was in
its turn hedged by some close and high-growing shrubs from the
"Bellair woods," as they were called. Beyond the steps was a gap in
the hedge, and this, cut and trimmed until it formed a compact and
beautiful arch, was spanned by a stile, built for the convenience of
those who desired to reach the village by the shortest route, the
Bellair woods.

"Don't repeat like a parrot, Lucian." Cora raised her voice angrily.
"I say, when is this to end? and how?"

They were just opposite the gap in the hedge and Lucian, looking down
upon Cora, stood facing the opening. As the words crossed her lips,
his eyes fell upon a figure just behind her, and he checked the
conversation by an involuntary motion of the hand.

The figure came toward them. It was Miss Arthur's French maid, and she
carried in her