ternational Rugby match.

All along, from the very moment when--to his unbounded astonishment--she
had accepted him, he had known that he was making a mistake; but he
never realized it with such painful clearness as he did this evening.
He was filled with a sort of blind terror. He cursed the fate which had
taken him to the Charity-Bazaar at which he had first come under the
notice of Lady Kimbuck. The fatuous snobbishness which had made him leap
at her invitation to spend a few days at Evenwood Towers he regretted;
but for that he blamed himself less. Further acquaintance with Lady
Kimbuck had convinced him that if she had wanted him, she would have got
him somehow, whether he had accepted or refused.

What he really blamed himself for was his mad proposal. There had been
no need for it. True, Lady Eva had created a riot of burning emotions in
his breast from the moment they met; but he should have had the sense to
realize that she was not the right mate for him, even tho he might have
a quarter of a million tucked away in gilt-edged securities. Their lives
could not possibly mix. He was a commonplace young man with a fondness
for the pleasures of the people. He liked cheap papers, picture-palaces,
and Association football. Merely to think of Association football in
connection with her was enough to make the folly of his conduct
clear. He ought to have been content to worship her from afar as some
inaccessible goddess.

A light step outside the door made his heart stop beating.

"I've just looked in to say good night, Mr.--er--Roland," she said,
holding out her hand. "Do excuse me. I've got such a headache."

"Oh, yes, rather; I'm awfully sorry."

If there was one person in the world Roland despised and hated at that
moment, it was himself.

"Are you going out with the guns to-morrow?" asked Lady Eva languidly.

"Oh, yes, rather! I mean, no. I'm afraid I don't shoot."

The back of his neck began to glow. He had no illusions about himself.
He was the biggest ass in Christendom.

"Perhaps you'd like to play a round of golf, then?"

"Oh, yes, rather! I mean, no." There it was again, that awful phrase. He
was certain he had not intended to utter it. She must be thinking him a
perfect lunatic. "I don't play golf."

They stood looking at each other for a moment. It seemed to Roland that
her gaze was partly contemptuous, partly pitying. He longed to tell her
that, tho she had happened to pick on his weak points i