or admires
one woman, or why a woman "sees anything" in another man, has yet to be
born. He was certainly neither Henry Charles nor Mr. Trentham.

"Not a word from Flo about her mother," Henry reflected, on his way to
bed. "Just like her--all about herself. I wonder if I'm an ass!"

How unreasonable men are. Why should Flo have written about anyone but
herself?

It was time for Henry to wonder. But he was still wondering months
later, when Trentham was not.

The fact is, this Trentham was a very fair specimen of the average
bull-headed Englishman, and better than most in the eyes of Miss Winton,
since he enjoyed a private income, which made him quite independent of
the salary attaching to his official position. His name cropped up
frequently for a time in Flo's letters to Henry, but the latter
scarcely referred to it in any of his replies, from which Flo judged him
jealous, and when Trentham had never a mention from her, Henry supposed
him circling in some other orbit. Here, of course, he was wrong, and he
might have noticed a lowering temperature in the tone of Flo's epistles.
There was still need to ask himself whether he was an ass, and to answer
in the affirmative. But he never thought out an answer until one day it
came ready-made in a fine right-hander, which took his breath away:

"DEAR HENRY,--I am so sorry to tell you that I cannot continue
our engagement. My affections have undergone a change, and I
think it best for both of us that we should not carry out the
engagement. I have promised to marry Mr. Trentham, who really
thought we were never engaged. I haven't worn the ring much, as
I didn't care greatly for the style of it, and now return it.
I feel it is best for both of us to cease our correspondence.
I shall always wish you well.--Sincerely yours,

"FLO WINTON."

"An ass," undoubtedly. The thing that he had often wished had happened,
yet he felt chagrined, and the sense of having been wronged leaped up
at him.

"She has made a fool of me," thought Henry, after reading the brief
note, "and yet I'm glad." But he was nothing of the kind. He knew that
he ought to be glad; he had hoped for this for nearly a year in the
odd moments when he saw things clearly, and realised that Flo was
receding from the place she had once held in his esteem. His visits
to Laysford had not improved matters. He was vexed, irritated,
d