oke, you know--and
then----"

"Do go on, if--if it doesn't----"

"Why, then, the poor girl cried and said it couldn't be because
she--she was engaged to another fellow; and she sent me away."

Miss Bellairs was listening attentively.

"And," continued Charlie, "she wrote and said it must be good-by
and--and----"

"And you think she----?"

"She told me so," whispered Charlie. "She said she couldn't part
without telling me. Oh, I say, Miss Bellairs, isn't it all damnable? I
beg your pardon."

Dora was tracing little figures on the gravel with her parasol.

"Now what would you do?" cried Charlie. "She loves me, I know she does,
and she's going to marry this other fellow because she promised him
first. I don't suppose she knew what love was then."

"Oh, I'm sure she didn't," exclaimed Dora earnestly.

"You can't blame her, you know. And it's absurd to--to--to--not
to--well, to marry a fellow you don't care for when you care for
another fellow, you know!"

"Yes."

"Of course you can hardly imagine yourself in that position, but
suppose a man liked you and-and was placed like that, you know, what
should you feel you ought to do?"

"Oh, I don't know," exclaimed Dora, clasping her hands. "Oh, do tell me
what you think! I'd give the world to know!"

Charlie's surprised glance warned her of her betrayal. "You mustn't ask
me." she exclaimed hastily.

"I won't ask a word. I--I'm awfully sorry, Miss Bellairs."

"Nobody knows," she murmured.

"Nobody shall through me."

"You're not very--? I'm very ashamed."

"Why? And because of me! After what I've told you!"

Charlie rose suddenly.

"I'm not going to stand it," he announced.

Dora looked up eagerly.

"What? You're going to----?"

"I'm going to have a shot at it. Am I to stand by and see her----? I'm
hanged if I do. Could that be right?"

"I should like to know what one's _duty_ is?"

"This talk with you has made me quite clear. We've reasoned it out, you
see. They're not to be married for two or three months. A lot can be
done in that time."

"Ah, you're a man!"

"I shall write first. If that doesn't do, I shall go to her."

Dora shook her head mournfully.

"Now, look here, Miss Bellairs you don't mind me advising you?"

"I ought not to have let you see, but as it is--"

"You do as I do, you stick to it. Confound it, you know, when one's
life's happiness is at stake--"

"Oh, yes, yes!"

"One mustn't be squeamish, must one?"

And