ere is any one to answer it." She really did not know who did the
work of the house.

It was not till after the letter had been taken away and Gwendolen had
risen again, stretching out one arm and then resting it on her head,
with a low moan which had a sound of relief in it, that Mrs. Davilow
ventured to ask--

"What did you say, Gwen?"

"I said that I should be at home," answered Gwendolen, rather loftily.
Then after a pause, "You must not expect, because Mr. Grandcourt is
coming, that anything is going to happen, mamma."

"I don't allow myself to expect anything, dear. I desire you to follow
your own feeling. You have never told me what that was."

"What is the use of telling?" said Gwendolen, hearing a reproach in
that true statement. "When I have anything pleasant to tell, you may be
sure I will tell you."

"But Mr. Grandcourt will consider that you have already accepted him,
in allowing him to come. His note tells you plainly enough that he is
coming to make you an offer."

"Very well; and I wish to have the pleasure of refusing him."

Mrs. Davilow looked up in wonderment, but Gwendolen implied her wish
not to be questioned further by saying--

"Put down that detestable needle-work, and let us walk in the avenue. I
am stifled."

CHAPTER XXVII.

Desire has trimmed the sails, and Circumstance
Brings but the breeze to fill them.

While Grandcourt on his beautiful black Yarico, the groom behind him on
Criterion, was taking the pleasant ride from Diplow to Offendene,
Gwendolen was seated before the mirror while her mother gathered up the
lengthy mass of light-brown hair which she had been carefully brushing.

"Only gather it up easily and make a coil, mamma," said Gwendolen.

"Let me bring you some ear-rings, Gwen," said Mrs. Davilow, when the
hair was adjusted, and they were both looking at the reflection in the
glass. It was impossible for them not to notice that the eyes looked
brighter than they had done of late, that there seemed to be a shadow
lifted from the face, leaving all the lines once more in their placid
youthfulness. The mother drew some inference that made her voice rather
cheerful. "You do want your earrings?"

"No, mamma; I shall not wear any ornaments, and I shall put on my black
silk. Black is the only wear when one is going to refuse an offer,"
said Gwendolen, with one of her old smiles at her mother, while she
rose to throw off her dressing-gown.

"Suppose the offe