dly. I'm
sure I don't pity her."

"Nor I, indeed."

And the two amiable women passed onwards to discuss some other ill-fated
victim.

But to the two men who loved her Vera that day was as beautiful as ever;
for love sees no flaw in the face that reigns supreme in the soul. And
Vera sat still in her corner of the tent where she had taken refuge, and
leant her tired, aching head against a gaudy pink-and-white striped
pillar. It was the tent where the flower-show was going on. From her
sheltered nook there was not much that was lovely to be seen, not a
vestige of a rose or a carnation to refresh her tired eyes, only a
counter covered with samples of potatoes and monster cauliflowers;
and there was a slab of white wood with pats of yellow butter, done up in
moss and ferns, which had been sent from the principal dairy-farms of the
county, and before which there was a constant succession of elderly and
interested housewives tasting and comparing notes. There seemed some
difficulty in deciding to whom the butter prize was to be awarded, and at
last a committee of ladies was formed; they all tasted, solemnly, of each
sample all round, and then they each gave their verdict differently, so
that it had all to be done over again amidst a good deal of laughter and
merriment.

Vera was vaguely amused by this scene that went on just in front of her.
When the knotty point was settled, the committee moved on to decide upon
something else, and she was left again to the uninterrupted contemplation
of the Flukes and the York Regents.

Denis Wilde had sat by her for some time, but at last she had begged him
to leave her. Her head ached, she said; if he would not mind going, and
he went.

Presently, Beatrice, beaming with happiness, found her out in her corner.

"Oh, Vera!" she said, coming up to her, all radiant with smiles, "you are
the only one of my friends who has not yet wished me joy."

"That is not because I have not thought of you, Beatrice, dear," she
answered, heartily grasping her friend's outstretched hands. "I was so
very glad to hear that everything has come right for you at last. How did
it all happen?"

"I will come over to the vicarage to-morrow, and tell you the whole
story. Oh! do you remember meeting Herbert and me, that foggy morning,
outside Tripton station?"

Would Vera ever forget it?

"I little thought then how happily everything was to end for us. I used
to think we should have to elope! Poor Herbert