zroy--' Well, really, Clementina, he need not have rushed away
in such a hurry! He seemed very distrait. He was looking round for
somebody else all the time. Now, see, he is hurrying off to meet her.
_Ah-h_!"

The deep exclamation of understanding was uttered in the speaker's
natural voice, as, following the direction of the good lady's glance,
Peggy suddenly divined the reason of "Lord Algernon's" pre-occupation.
Rosalind Darcy was approaching, surrounded by the usual bevy of
admirers, her parasol tilted over her shoulder, and her lips curved into
a smile of artificial sweetness. It was easy to see that her
affectation of interest in what was being said was of the thinnest
possible description and Peggy wondered what could be the reason of her
ill-humour, but only for a moment, for presently Rosalind's eyes
wandered to the bench under the trees, and in a flash the sunshine came
back into her face.

"She was looking for Arthur! She thought he was not here!" Arthur's
sister said jealously to herself; and the next moment Rosalind was
hurrying towards them, leaving the discarded admirers to digest their
rebuff as best they might. Nothing could have been sweeter or more
winsome than her greeting of her friends, but Arthur responded to her
advances with a coldness which astonished his companions. They had not
been present the night before, when Miss Darcy had found it convenient
to ignore his presence, and to forget a promise given to him because a
more distinguished partner had appeared on the scene. Arthur's pride in
himself was by no means of the overweening description affected by his
small sister, but he had too much self-respect to accept a smile one day
at the expense of a snub the next, and Rosalind was given to playing
fast and loose with her friends. It was true, she invariably repented
herself of her rudeness, and endeavoured to make a gracious atonement,
but it was becoming more and more difficult to appease Arthur's wounded
dignity, and to-day she felt an unaccustomed thrill of nervousness at
the sight of his grave, stern face.

"Arthur, come and walk wound with me!" she commanded with an
unaccustomed note of timidity mingling with the imperious young voice.
"I want to talk to you. Those widiculous men have been boring me to
distwaction, and I want to hear about Yew Hedge. Take me into the wose
garden, and tell me all about Yew Hedge."

"Peggy can do that better than I, Rosalind. I have been dow