ce; but she had a severe
illness soon after that, and has been living on the Continent ever
since. Why do you ask?"

"For no especial reason," he answered smiling. "Perhaps I am a little
jealous lest this new-comer to whose arrival you look forward with so
much interest should usurp more of your time and attention than we
less-favoured ones can spare."

He spoke with a degree of sarcasm, real or feigned, which Mrs. Clayton
immediately resented.

"I am not aware that I have been in the habit of neglecting my guests,
Mr. Laurence," she replied; "but my cousin Blanche is more likely to
remind me of my duties than to tempt me to forget them."

"Forgive me," he said, earnestly. "You have mistaken my meaning
altogether. But are you very intimate with this lady?"

"Very much so," was the answer. "We were brought up together, and loved
each other as sisters until she married and went to India. For some
years after her return home our intercourse was renewed, and only
broken, on the occasion of her being ill and going abroad, as I have
described to you. Her husband, I have, of course, seen less of, but I
like what I know of him, and am anxious to show them both all the
hospitality in my power. She is a charming creature, and I am sure you
will admire her."

"Doubtless I shall," he replied; "that is if she does not lay claim to
all Mrs. Clayton's interest in the affairs of Molton Chase."

"No fear of that," laughed the cheery little lady as she ascended the
stairs, and left Mr. Laurence standing in the hall beneath.

"Clayton," observed that gentleman, as he re-entered the luncheon-room
and drew his host into the privacy of a bay-window, "I really am afraid
I shall have to leave you this evening--if you won't think it rude of me
to go so suddenly."

"But _why_, my dear fellow?" exclaimed Harry Clayton, as his blue eyes
searched into the other's soul. "What earthly reason can you have for
going, when your fixed plan was to stay with us over Christmas Day?"

"Well! there is lots of work waiting for me to do, you know; and really
the time slips away so, and time is money to a slave like
myself--that--"

"Now, my dear Laurence," said Harry Clayton conclusively, "you know you
are only making excuses. All the work that was absolutely necessary for
you to do before Christmas was finished before you came here, and you
said you felt yourself licensed to take a whole month's holiday. Now,
was not that the case?"

Mr. Lauren