Flossy discerned the entanglement at
once--she saw that Hubert meant one thing and Enid another; but out of
their cross-purposes she divined a way of keeping the girl silent. "For
my sake Hubert, don't discuss my terrible past between you. What good
would it do? Promise me that, when you are married, you will not let her
speak of it--even to you." She shed a tear or two as she spoke.

"Poor Flossy!" said Hubert, laying his hand on her arm. "Don't grieve,
dear! I have no right to say anything, have I? Yes, I promise you I will
not let her say a word about the matter, either now or afterwards, if I
can help it, and certainly to no one beside myself."

And with this promise Flossy feigned contentment. But, when Hubert had
left her, she paced up and down the room with cheeks that flamed with
excitement, and eyes that glowed with the dull red light of rage.

"What was I thinking about to bring this engagement to pass?" she said
to herself. "Yet, after all, it is better so. Hubert has a reason for
silencing her; with any other man, she would have the matter out in a
trice, and ruin me. Now what is the next move? To delay the marriage, of
course. I will come round prettily to the General's view, and uphold him
in his determination not to allow the marriage for at least two years.
So Enid says that she will not betray me until she is married, does she?
Then she will never have the chance; for a great deal may happen--to a
delicate girl like Enid Vane--in two long years."

CHAPTER XXV.

Hubert had been worried and overworked of late; it had appeared to him a
good thing that he should spend a few of the spring days at Beechfield,
and try to recover in the society of his sister and his betrothed the
serenity that he had lost. But this seemed after all no easy thing to
do. He was annoyed to find himself irritated by small matters; his
equanimity, usually perfect, was soon ruffled; and, although he did not
always show any outward sign of vexation, he felt that his temper was
not quite under his own control. And it was Enid, curiously enough, who
irritated him most.

"Who is this new singer," she asked one day, "about whom people are
talking so much?"

"My dear Enid, how am I to know which singer you mean?" he said,
letting the newspaper drop from his hand, and clasping his hands
leisurely behind his head. "There are so many new singers!"

They had been having tea under the beech-tree, and, as usual, had been
left a