ven if he married Miss Brooke? So long as you get the two
thousand, I suppose you don't mind which girl it is?"

"Not a bit," answered her husband frankly. "All I want is the money.
Then we'll go off to America, old girl, and have the farm you talk
about. But Brooke's daughter won't have two thousand pounds, so if he
marries her instead of Miss Kenyon, he'll have to look out."

Mrs. Trent had finished her work by this time. As she stood by the table
drying her hands there was a look of fixed determination on her features
which Francis recognized with some uneasiness.

"What do you think about it? What are you going to do?" he asked, almost
timidly.

"I am not going to see Miss Lesley badly treated, at any rate."

"How can you prevent it?"

"I don't know, but I _shall_ prevent it, please God, if necessary. Your
brother Oliver is engaged to one girl, and making love to another,
that's the plain English of it; and sooner than see him break Miss
Lesley's heart, I'd up and tell everybody what I know of him, and get
him turned out of the house."

"And spoil my game?" cried Francis, rising to his feet. His faced had
turned white with anger, and his eyes were aflame. She looked at him
consideringly, as if she were measuring his strength against her own.

"Well--no," she said at length, "I won't spoil your game if I can help
it--and I think I can get my own way without doing that. I want you to
win your game, Francis. For you know"--with a weary smile--"that if you
win, I win too."

Her husband's face relaxed. "You're not a bad sort, Polly: I always said
so," he remarked. "Come and give me a kiss. You wouldn't do anything
rash, would you? Choke Oliver off at Brooke's as much as you like; but
don't endanger his relations with Ethel Kenyon. His marriage with her is
our only chance of getting out of this accursed bog we seem to have
stuck fast in."

"I'll be careful," said Mrs. Trent, drily.

Francis still eyed her with apprehension. "You won't try to stop that
marriage, will you?"

"No, why should I? Miss Kenyon's nothing to me."

Francis laughed. "I didn't know where your sympathies might be carrying
you," he said. "Brooke's daughter is no more to you than the other
girl."

"I suppose not. But I feel different to her. You can't explain these
things," said Mrs. Trent, philosophically, "but it's certain sure that
you take a liking to one person and a hate to another, without knowing
why. I liked Miss Lesley ever s