ad--that I threw myself away.

"Why?

"Because she is a schoolmistress and works for her living, strives hard
to keep her mother and sisters, and I don't suppose has money to spare
for a fashionable dress.

"Bah! What a creature for a man--a gentleman of birth and position to
love--a girl who works hard, is self-denying and patient, and cannot
dress well. I'm afraid I am very mad indeed. But that is from a
society point of view. Let's take another.

"Hazel Thorne is refined, sensitive, perfectly ladylike to my mind, very
sweet--very beautiful with those soft appealing eyes, and that rather
care-worn, troubled look; she is evidently a true woman, and one who
would devote herself thoroughly to the man who won her heart. If I
could win her I believe she would think more of me than of her dresses
and jewellery, horses and carriages, and consider that her sole aim in
life was to make me happy--if I could win her."

He sat with his eyes half-closed for a time.

"No, I don't believe that," he said aloud. "I don't believe that she
would accept me for the sake of my position. I believe from my heart
that she would refuse me, and if she does--well, I shall try."

There was another long pause, during which the thought-weaving went on,
with the face of Hazel Thorne ever in the pattern; and at last as if
perfectly satisfied in his own mind, he rose and sighed, saying:

"Yes; there's no doubt about it: I am what people call `in love.'"

He went to the window and stood leaning against the side, gazing out at
the pleasant park-like expanse, but seeing nothing but the face of Hazel
Thorne, as in a quiet, dreamy way he recalled the past.

Suddenly a pang shot through him, and his brow grew rugged, for he
remembered a conversation he had heard between Beatrice Lambent and his
mother, wherein the former had said, _a propos_ of the new mistress,
that the vicar had been rather displeased with her for receiving the
visit of some gentleman friend so soon after she had come down.

"I shall hate that woman before I have done," he said angrily, and,
crossing the room, he rang the bell sharply and ordered his horse.

George Canninge's was no calf-love. He was a sterling, thoughtful man,
quietly preparing himself to make his position in his country's
legislature; and yet the coming of Hazel Thorne had changed the whole
course of his life. He found himself longing to see her, eager to meet
and speak, but bound by his sense of g