ievous smile, but Myra was
gazing thoughtfully before her, and the glance missed its mark.

"Hum! ha!" growled Sir Mark. "`London, South, and Channel. Same as
number three.' Confound number three! Who wants to refer to that? Oh,
here we are: `Light winds, shifting to east. Fine generally.'
Climate's improving, girls. More coffee, Myra. Pass my cup, Edie,
dear."

He skimmed over the summary, and then turned to the police cases, found
nothing particular, and went on to the sessions, stopping to refresh
himself from time to time, while Edie wondered what her cousin's
thoughts might be.

"Dear me!" exclaimed the admiral suddenly; "how singular! I must read
you this, girls. Here's another forgery of foreign banknotes."

The click of Myra's teacup as she suddenly set it down made the admiral
drop the paper and read in his child's blank face the terrible slip he
had made.

"O Myra, my darling!" he cried apologetically; "I am so sorry;" and he
turned to Edie, who looked daggers.

"It is nothing, papa," said Myra coldly, as she tried hard to master her
emotion.

"But it is something, my dear. I wouldn't have said a word only I
caught sight of Percy Guest's name as junior for the defence."

It was Edie's turn now to look startled, and Sir Mark hurriedly fixed
upon her to become the scapegoat for his awkward allusion, and divert
Myra's attention.

"Can't congratulate the prisoner upon his counsel," he said. "The man's
too young and inexperienced. Only the other day a mere student. It's
like putting a midshipman as second in command of an ironclad."

Edie's eyes now seemed to dart flames, and she looked up boldly at her
uncle.

"Oh, yes," he said, "I mean it. Very nice fellow, Percy Guest, in a
social way, but I should be sorry to trust an important case with him.
Here, I'll read it, and see what it's all about. No; never mind, I know
you girls don't care about law."

The morning meal had been commenced cheerfully. There was sunshine
without and at the table, Edie had thought how bright and well her
cousin looked, and augured pleasant times of the future.

"If she could only feel herself free," was her constant thought when
Myra gave way to some fit of despondency.

"I'm sure that she loves Malcolm Stratton, and what is the good of a
stupid old law if all it does is to make people uncomfortable. I wish I
knew the Archbishop of Canterbury or the judge of the Court of Divorce,
or whoever it is set