been a little precipitate;
but I could not but feel that something was due to Mr. Morris,
and that it would be wrong to keep him in suspense. Send me
you good wishes and congratulations, dear Georgie, for I
cannot feel that my happiness is complete without them.

"Ever your affectionate,

"Maria Leslie."

Graham arrived by the last available train on the evening of
the 31st, and was told by Madge, who came running into the
hall to meet him, that Mamma and Cousin Madelon were dressing,
and would Uncle Horace have some dinner, or go and dress too?
Uncle Horace said he had dined already, and would dress at
once, and so disappeared upstairs with his portmanteau.

When he came down to the drawing-room, he found Mrs. Treherne
sitting alone in the summer twilight at the open window.

"Is that you, Horace?" she said, putting out her hand; "you
are quite a stranger here, I understand. Georgie says she has
been jealous of my seeing so much of you in London."

"I think Georgie has no right to complain of me," he answered;
"if there is a thing on earth I hate it's a ball--are you
going, too, Aunt Barbara?"

"Indeed, no--I think you will have enough to do with two
ladies; here comes one of them."

A tall, slender figure, moving through the dusk with her soft
trailing draperies, and water-lilies in her brown hair. Graham
had not seen her since that evening, more than three months
ago, when she had looked up at him, and escaped in the midst
of her unfinished song. They took each other's hands in
silence now; a sudden consciousness and embarrassment seemed
to oppress them both, and make the utterance of a word
impossible.

Madelon was the first to speak; she went up to Mrs. Treherne.

"Can you see my flowers, Aunt Barbara?" she said; "are they
not pretty? Madge walked three miles to-day to the sedge
ponds, on purpose to get them for me."

"Is Madge still your devoted friend?" Horace asked.

"Oh! yes, Madge and I are always great friends. I must not
expect all her attentions though, now that you are come back,
Monsieur Horace."

The old childish name seemed to break the spell, and to bring
back the old familiarity.

"And so you are going to a ball at last, Madelon," Graham
said. "For the first time in my life I am sorry I cannot
dance, for I shall be deprived of the pleasure of having you
for a partner."

"Thank you," she said, "I should have liked to have danced
with you very much; but, after all, it is in the