lf-contradictory ideas. That lady would be a most unnatural
mother if she rejected the proposal he had to lay before her, and a most
unnatural mother if she accepted it. In his reflections, according to
his mood, he saw either horn of this dilemma so clearly that the other
vanished from his mind, but it always assumed its proper reality again,
and made its companion altogether visionary.

When at last the fatal hour for the interview arrived, he went to the
rendezvous in a pitiable state of hope and fear. He had always his whole
life through carried all his eggs in one basket, and had been incapable
of undertaking more than one emotional enterprise at a time. To lose
Madge now would be to lose everything, and his former experiences of
the healing powers of time--which were possibly numerous and striking
enough--were of no value to him. Obeying the directions he had received,
he chartered a cab, and after a half-hour's tumultuous journey found
himself alighting before a pretty villa in Prahran, with a well-ordered
garden in front of it full of English shrubs and flowers, amidst which
were interspersed a number of sub-tropic plants and trees. He was shown
with no delay into a shaded room, where he had some difficulty in making
out the figure of a gray-haired lady who sat in an arm-chair to receive
him, and who did not rise at his entrance. Madge was standing near her,
and as the dazzling effect of the bright sunshine of the streets passed
from his eyes he saw the sign of many tears in the two faces before him.

There was an embarrassing silence, which lasted for a full half-minute,
and Paul stood there conscious of the mother's scrutiny, and feeling
like a criminal in the dock. The girl herself was the first who found
courage and self-control to speak.

'Mother dear,' she said in an uncertain voice, 'this is Mr. Armstrong.'

The elder lady nodded, and with a slight gesture of the hand motioned
the visitor to a chair. Paul obeyed the gesture, and waited in silence.

'You will understand,' the lady of the house began, 'how wretchedly
sorry I am to see you.' Paul bowed an assent to this, and could but
acknowledge that the unpromising exordium was natural. 'My daughter has
never had a secret from me in her life until within the last few months.
She has written of you in her letters from time to time, but never
led me to fancy that you were making love to her. I believe you are a
married man, Mr. Armstrong?'

'I am marrie