g with it a blessing, according to Mrs Ramsden's
theories. She shook her head sadly, and ventured another question.

"You go to races, too, don't you?"

"Whenever I get the chance."

"You _like_ going?"

"Love it! Why shouldn't I? Finest thing in the world to see a good
hard race! Wish I could keep a stud myself. I would, if I had the
money. I must tell you the truth, you see, even if you are shocked!"

"Racecourses are very wicked places."

"Ever seen one?"

"No."

"Oh!"

They looked at each other and simultaneously burst into a laugh. They
were young and in love; it was delightful to brush aside problematical
difficulties, and give themselves over to enjoyment of the golden
present. Elma forgot her usual somewhat prim reserve, and her laughter
was like a chime of silver bells. It is a rare thing to bear a musical
laugh. Geoffrey longed for nothing so much as to make her laugh again.

"I'm a born sportsman, Miss Ramsden, and I'll never be anything else.
I'd like to give up everything you dislike, but it's no use swearing
against one's convictions. It's not honest, and it doesn't last, but I
can promise you always to play straight, and to keep down the stakes so
that I shall never run the risk of losing so much again."

"Why can't you play for nothing but just the fun of the game?"

"We call that playing for love! It's rather dull--_in cards_!"

Elma twirled her parasol, and blushed to the eyes.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Mrs Ramsden sent up a box to the Manor that same afternoon, containing
a dark linen dress, a blue blouse, and black skirt for evening wear; a
supply of underclothing, a grey Shetland shawl, and a flannel dressing-
gown. An hour later, conveyed by special messenger, came a second box,
accompanied by a note in Cornelia's handwriting. Elma was resting in
her bedroom when it arrived. She opened it, and read as follows:--

"Dear Moss Rose,--I guess tight gowns are a bit worrying in hot
weather, so I've gotten together a few waists and skirts that may aid
your recovery, and send them along with my love, wishing you many
happy returns of the day. If it isn't the right day, it ought to be,
anyway! I always calculated to be here for your birthday, and I'm
about tired waiting. If you send them back, I'll burn them, as sure
as taxes, but I reckon you're too sweet to hurt my feelings. Put on
the one with the ruckings! It's the duty of every woman to look her
b