f course,' replied Clara, with a smiling glance at Gladys.

She replied by an answering smile, so swift and lovely that George
Fordyce looked at her with a sudden access of admiration. Gladys shrank
just a little under the continued persistence of his gaze; and when he
saw it, it added a new zest to his interest in her. He was accustomed to
find his admiration or attention always acceptable to the young ladies
of his acquaintance, and the demeanour of Gladys was at once new and
interesting to him. He determined to cultivate her acquaintance, and to
awaken that fair, statuesque maiden into life.

Just then tea came up, and, rising lazily, he began to make himself
useful to his cousin Clara, murmuring some nonsense to her over the
tea-table, which deepened the lovely light in her eyes. He enjoyed
seeing the delicate colour deepening in her face, and excused himself
for bringing it there on the ground of cousinship. But when he carried
her cup to Gladys, he remained by her side, while Julia entertained the
other two with a description of the bride's drawing-room and reception
gown.

'It's an awful romance, Miss Graham, upon my word it is,' began George,
standing with his back to the others, and looking down most impressively
into the girl's face,--'your story, I mean, of course. Uncle Tom has
told us how you, the heiress of Bourhill, have lived in the
slums--positively the slums, wasn't it?'

Now, though his words were not particularly well chosen or in good
taste, his manner was so impressively sympathetic that Gladys felt
insensibly influenced by it. And he _was_ very handsome, and it was
quite pleasant to have him standing there, looking as if there was
nobody in the world half so interesting to him as herself. For the very
first time in her life Gladys felt the subtle charm of flattery steal
into her soul.

'I suppose you would call it the slums,' she answered. 'My uncle lived
in Colquhoun Street.'

'Don't know it, but I guess it was bad enough, and for you, too, who
look fit for a palace. And did you live there all alone with the old
miser?'

'Don't call him that, please; he was very kind to me, and I cannot bear
to hear him hardly spoken of, she said quickly. 'There were three of us,
and we were very happy, though the place was so small and poor.'

'Who was the third?'

He managed to convey into his tone just sufficient aggressiveness as to
suggest that he resented the idea of a third person sharing anythi