our story opens, George, who had managed to get away from
office-work two hours before his usual time, was hurrying towards Linden
Gardens as fast as a hansom could take him, to see his betrothed for the
first time after their long separation.

He was eager, naturally, and a little nervous. Would Ella still persist
in her wish for delay? or would he be able to convince her that there
were no obstacles in the way? He felt he had strong arguments on his
side, if only--and here was the real seat of his anxiety--if only her
objections were not raised from some other motive! She might have been
trying to prepare him for a final rupture, and then--'Well,' he
concluded, with his customary good sense, 'no use meeting trouble
halfway--in five minutes I shall know for certain!'

* * * * *

At the same moment Mrs. Hylton and her daughter Flossie, a vivacious
girl in the transitionary sixteen-year-old stage, were in the
drawing-room at Linden Gardens. It was the ordinary double drawing-room
of a London house, but everything in it was beautiful and harmonious.
The eye was vaguely rested by the delicate and subdued colour of walls
and hangings; cabinets, antique Persian pottery, rare bits of china, all
occupied the precise place in which their decorative value was most
felt; a room, in short, of exceptional individuality and distinction.

Flossie was standing at the window, from which a glimpse could just be
caught of fresh green foliage and the lodge-gates, with the bustle of
the traffic in the High Street beyond; Mrs. Hylton was writing at a
Flemish bureau in the corner.

'I suppose,' said Flossie meditatively, as she fingered a piece of old
stained glass that was hanging in the window, 'we shall have George here
this afternoon.'

Mrs. Hylton raised her head. She had a striking face, tinted a clear
olive, with a high wave of silver hair crowning the forehead; her
eyebrows were dark, and so were the brilliant eyes; the nose was
aquiline, and the thin, well-cut mouth a little hard. She was a woman
who had been much admired in her time, and who still retained a certain
attraction, though some were apt to find her somewhat cold and
unsympathetic. Her daughter Ella, for example, was always secretly a
little in awe of her mother, who, however, had no terrors for audacious,
outspoken Flossie.

'If he comes, Flossie, he will be very welcome,' she said, 'but I hardly
expect him yet. George is not like