pered and capricious!" Can the girl he loves so ardently be
guilty of these faults? It seems incredible to Sir Adrian, as he
remembers her sunny smile and gentle manner. But then, is it not her
dearest friend who is speaking of her--tender-hearted little Dora
Talbot, who seems to think well of every one, and who murmurs such
pretty speeches even about Arthur, who, if the truth be told, is not
exactly "dear" in the sight of Sir Adrian.

"You think there is, or was, an engagement between Arthur and Miss
Delmaine?" he begins, with his eyes fixed upon the ground.

"I think nothing, you silly man," says the widow playfully, "until I am
told it. But I am glad Florence is once more friendly with poor Arthur;
he is positively wrapped up in her. Now, has that interesting _tableau_
we so nearly interrupted given you a distaste for all other pictures?
Shall we try the smaller gallery?"

"Just as you will."

"Of course"--with a girlish laugh--"it would be imprudent to venture
again into the one we have just quitted. By this time, doubtless, they
are quite reconciled--and--"

"Yes--yes," interrupts Sir Adrian hastily, trying in vain to blot out
the picture she has raised before his eyes of Florence in her lover's
arms. "What you have just told me has quite taken me by surprise," he
goes on nervously. "I should never have guessed it from Miss Delmaine's
manner; it quite misled me."

"Well, between you and me," says Dora, raising herself on tiptoe, as
though to whisper in his ear, and so coming very close to him, "I am
afraid my dearest Florence is a little sly! Yes, really; you wouldn't
think it, would you? The dear girl has such a sweet ingenuous
face--quite the loveliest face on earth, I think, though some pronounce
it too cold. But she is very self-contained; and to-day, you see, she
has given you an insight into this slight fault in her character. Now,
has she not appeared to you to avoid Arthur almost pointedly?"

"She has indeed," agrees Sir Adrian, with a smothered groan.

"Well"--triumphantly--"and yet, here we find her granting him a private
audience, when she believed we were all safely out of the way; and in
the north gallery too, which, as a rule, is deserted."

"She didn't know we were thinking of driving to the hills," says Sir
Adrian, making a feeble effort to find a flaw in his companion's
statement.

"Oh, yes, she did!" declares the widow lightly. "I told her myself,
about two hours ago, that I intended a