c person."

"A lover you mean?" asks uncompromising Molly. "Well, I don't know; I
think that is about the time, of all others, when I should object to
feeling cold. One's nose has such an unpleasant habit of getting beyond
one's control in the way of redness; and to feel that one's cheeks are
pinched and one's lips blue is maddening. At such times I like my own
society best."

"And at other times, too," said Philip, disagreeably; "this morning,
for instance." He and Molly have been having a passage of arms, and he
has come off second best.

"I won't contradict you," says Molly, calmly; "it would be rude, and,
considering how near we are to church, unchristian."

"A pity you cannot recollect your Christianity on other occasions,"
says he, sneeringly.

"You speak with feeling. How have I failed toward _you_ in
Christian charity?"

"Is it charitable, is it kind to scorn a fellow-creature as you do,
only because he loves you?" Philip says, in a low tone.

Miss Massereene is first honestly surprised, then angry. That Philip
has made love to her now and again when opportunity occurred is a fact
she does not seek to deny, but it has been hitherto in the careless,
half-earnest manner young men of the present day affect when in the
society of a pretty woman, and has caused her no annoyance.

That he should now, without a word of warning (beyond the slight
sparring-match during their walk, and which is one of a series), break
forth with so much vehemence and apparent sense of injury, not only
alarms but displeases her; whilst some faint idea of treachery on her
own part toward her betrothed, in listening to such words, fills her
with distress.

There is a depth, an earnestness, about Philip not to be mistaken. His
sombre face has paled, his eyes do not meet hers, his thin nostrils are
dilated, as though breathing were a matter of difficulty; all prove him
genuinely disturbed.

To a man of his jealous, passionate nature, to love is a calamity. No
return, however perfect, can quite compensate him for all the pains and
fears his passion must afford. Already Philip's torture has begun;
already the pangs of unrequited love have seized upon him.

"I wish you would not speak to me like--as--in such a tone," Molly
says, pettishly and uneasily. "Latterly, I hate going anywhere with
you, you are so ill-tempered; and now to-day---- Why cannot you be
pleasant and friendly, as you used to be when I first came to Herst?"

"Ah,