better to conceal them, she saluted Mr. Mallow with so much frigidity as rather to disconcert that young gentleman.
"Mr. Dimbal told me that you were here," she said. "He saw you at Reading Station yesterday."
"Mr. Dimbal is very kind to save me the trouble of announcing myself," said Mallow' dryly. "So unimportant a person as I am should feel much flattered."
"No friend is unimportant, Mr. Mallow," reproved Miss Bellairs, gently.
"I believe that--when there is something substantial to be gained from the friendship."
"What a cruel remark!" cried Tui, shaking her head. "I hope you do not practise what you preach, Mr. Mallow."
"Mallow's bark is worse than his bite," chimed in Aldean.
"And the horse is the noblest of all animals," said Mallow' ironically. "Go on, Aldean; I love these dry chips from the tree of knowledge."
"The Hebrew tree of knowledge was stolen by them from the Chaldeans," said Miss Slarge, loudly. "The serpent legend, so intimately connected with it, came from the same source. Well, young people, I must really return to my studies. Lord Aldean--Mr. Mallow; I hope you will both stay to luncheon?"
Aldean consulted Mallow by a side look, but seeing no encouragement in his moody face refused the invitation on behalf of them both; whereat Miss Slarge shook hands in the nineteenth-century fashion, and returned to her studies and the primæval days when Nimrod began to be a mighty one on the earth. The four young people were left standing, and a short silence prevailed, which was broken by Mallow.
"'Hence, loathed melancholy!'" he spouted theatrically; "we have had enough of that dismal goddess. Miss Bellairs, smile; Aldean, make a joke; Miss Ostergaard, laugh for goodness' sake."
"I can't," replied the last-named lady, "until Lord Aldean makes his joke. One can't make bricks without straw or mirth without jests."
"I always have to think out my jokes," said Aldean, innocently; which remark brought forth the required mirth.
"You are like the man whose impromptus took him years to invent," said Olive, beginning to be merry. "Mr. Mallow, what is the latest news from town?"
"Men are in love; thieves are in gaol, and women still use looking-glasses."
"Also Queen Anne is dead," laughed Tui, swinging her basket. "Oysters and news should both be fresh, yet you talk truisms."
"Have you heard of that awful murder?" put in Aldean. "Murder! Oh, the horrid word, you make me shudder!"
"Aldean is like the fat boy in Pickwick," said Mallow, and quoted, "I wants to make your flesh creep.'"
"Is that the Athelstane Place crime, Lord Aldean?" asked Olive.
"Yes. Fellow was killed with a knitting-needle. I wonder who did it?"
"A woman, you may be sure."
"What makes you think so, Miss Bellairs?" demanded Mallow, quickly.
"Because men don't use knitting-needles, and women do," replied the girl. "I dare say it was a case of jealousy."
"Perhaps; but even a jealous woman would hesitate to cut off the right hand of a dead lover."
"Unless she came from the East," said Aldean, suddenly.
"Why should she come from the East?"
"Well, the Morning Planet says that the man came from India."
"From India!" cried Olive and Tui in one breath; and their thoughts centred at once on Angus Carson.
"Oh, that is only a theory of the newspaper!" said Mallow, hastily. "Can't you find a pleasanter subject to talk about, Aldean?"
"Yes," replied Aldean, looking meaningly at Tui. "Only----"
"Only I am wasting my time, and you are helping me to do so," cried that young lady, briskly. "I must tie up my roses."
"Let me help you."
"I am afraid your help would be a hindrance," said Miss Ostergaard, as she moved towards the house, followed by her huge admirer. "However, if you are very, very good, you may hold the ball of string."
Left alone with Mallow, Olive felt in so dangerous a position that she assumed a demeanour even more reserved.
"So Mr. Carson has arrived in England," remarked the young man, gloomily.
"Yes; who told you so?"
"Mr. Dimbal, the lawyer. Of course, it is an open secret that you are to marry him."
"I see no reason why it should be a secret at all," retorted Olive, with a flush. "If my father wished for the marriage, no one can say a word against it."
"I am not saying a word against it. If I did, I should probably say too much."
"Then don't let us discuss the subject," said Olive, hurriedly; "you only make my position the harder."
"Do you consider it hard?"
"You have no right to ask me that question, Mr. Mallow."
"I beg your pardon," said the young man, reddening. "I admit that I have no right--unless you give me one."
"Mr. Mallow, I really do not understand you."
"I don't understand myself, Miss Bellairs; usually I am not timid when I should be bold."
"'Be bold--be bold, but be not over bold,'" quoted Olive, trying to turn off his speech with a laugh--an attempt which Mallow resolutely refused to countenance.
"I suppose you will marry Mr. Carson?" he inquired anxiously.
"I suppose I shall," replied Miss Bellairs, with a coolness she was far from feeling.
"Is it absolutely certain?"
Olive felt a quiver pass through her frame, and it was with difficulty she prevented her emotion from overcoming her. She thought of the man who was coming to claim her, the man she had never even seen; of the undeclared lover who was by her side dreading the answer which she should give. Finally the memory of the sealed letter, with its menace of coming evil passed through her mind, and dictated the reply--
"It is absolutely certain--absolutely."
"In that case there is nothing for me to do but to offer you the customary congratulations on your--your good fortune."
"My good fortune!" she burst out. "My good--oh yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Mallow. I congratulate you, in my turn, on your penetration." And before he could recover from his amazement at this attack, she flitted across the lawn, swept past the astonished couple on the steps, and vanished into the house.
This incident brought the visit to a close, for as Olive did not reappear to explain her sudden anger, Mallow said good-bye to Miss Ostergaard, and departed with the reluctant Aldean. The young
