ight in the eyes as I
spoke:

"My name, as I told you, is Ross, Malcolm Ross. I am by profession a
Barrister. I was made a Q. C. in the last year of the Queen's reign.
I have been fairly successful in my work." To my relief he said:

"Yes, I know. I have always heard well of you! Where and when did you
meet Margaret?"

"First at the Hay's in Belgrave Square, ten days ago. Then at a picnic
up the river with Lady Strathconnell. We went from Windsor to Cookham.
Mar--Miss Trelawny was in my boat. I scull a little, and I had my own
boat at Windsor. We had a good deal of conversation--naturally."

"Naturally!" there was just a suspicion of something sardonic in the
tone of acquiescence; but there was no other intimation of his feeling.
I began to think that as I was in the presence of a strong man, I
should show something of my own strength. My friends, and sometimes my
opponents, say that I am a strong man. In my present circumstances,
not to be absolutely truthful would be to be weak. So I stood up to
the difficulty before me; always bearing in mind, however, that my
words might affect Margaret's happiness through her love for her
father. I went on:

"In conversation at a place and time and amid surroundings so pleasing,
and in a solitude inviting to confidence, I got a glimpse of her inner
life. Such a glimpse as a man of my years and experience may get from
a young girl!" The father's face grew graver as I went on; but he said
nothing. I was committed now to a definite line of speech, and went on
with such mastery of my mind as I could exercise. The occasion might
be fraught with serious consequences to me too.

"I could not but see that there was over her spirit a sense of
loneliness which was habitual to her. I thought I understood it; I am
myself an only child. I ventured to encourage her to speak to me
freely; and was happy enough to succeed. A sort of confidence became
established between us." There was something in the father's face
which made me add hurriedly:

"Nothing was said by her, sir, as you can well imagine, which was not
right and proper. She only told me in the impulsive way of one longing
to give voice to thoughts long carefully concealed, of her yearning to
be closer to the father whom she loved; more en rapport with him; more
in his confidence; closer within the circle of his sympathies. Oh,
believe me, sir, that it was all good! All that a father's heart could
hope or