her too
much.

"His little boy," continued Mrs. Accrington in a conversational tone,
"has been spending the time with Mr. Brand's younger brother and his
wife, one of the Colwyn girls, wasn't she? And the eldest Colwyn girl,
the one who sang, has been acting as his governess. She used to be
companion to old Mrs. Brand you know."

"I remember," said Lady Caroline, and managed to change the subject.

She would have liked to question Margaret, but she did not dare. She
watched her carefully for the next few days, and she was not satisfied.
Margaret was nervous and uneasy, as she had been about the time when
Wyvis Brand made his indiscreet proposal for her hand; it seemed to Lady
Caroline that she was watching for some person to arrive--some person
who never came. Who was the person for whom she watched? so Lady
Caroline asked herself. But she dared not question Margaret.

She noticed, too, that Mr. Adair looked once or twice at his daughter in
a curiously doubtful way, as if he were puzzled or distressed. And one
day he said musingly:

"It is surely time for Margaret to be getting married, is it not?"

"Somebody has been saying so to you," said Lady Caroline, with less
urbanity than usual.

"No, no, only Isabel; she wrote this morning expressing some surprise at
not having heard that Margaret was engaged before now. I suppose," Mr.
Adair hesitated a little, "I suppose she _will_ marry?"

"Reginald, what an idea! Of course Margaret will marry, and marry
brilliantly."

"I am not so sure of that," said Mr. Adair, who seemed to be in low
spirits. "Look at my two sisters, and lots of other girls. How many men
has Margaret refused? She will take up with some crooked stick at last."

He went out without waiting for his wife's reply. Lady Caroline,
harassed in mind and considerably weakened of late in body, sat still
and shed a few silent tears. She was angry with him, and yet she shared
his apprehensions. Was it possible that their lovely Margaret was
turning out a social failure? To have Margaret at home, fading, ageing,
growing into an old maid like the sisters of Reginald Adair, that was
not to be thought of for a moment.

Meanwhile Margaret was taking her fate in her own hands.

She was at that very moment standing in the conservatory opposite a
tall, dark man, who, hat in hand, looked at her expectantly as if he
wished her to open the conversation. She had never made a fairer picture
than she did just then. Sh