at the Cliff Hotel.

"Why, Elisabeth is already here!" she exclaimed, addressing the family
at Sunnyside collectively. "She came last night."

Selwyn looked up from his correspondence with a kindly smile.

"That's good. You will be able, after all, to bring off the projected
meeting between Mrs. Durward and your hermit--who, by the way, seems to
have deserted his shell nowadays," he added, twinkling.

And Sara, blissfully unaware that in this instance Elisabeth had
abrogated to herself the rights of destiny, responded smilingly--

"Yes. Fate has actually arranged things quite satisfactorily for once."

Half an hour later she presented herself at the Cliff Hotel, and was
conducted upstairs to Mrs. Durward's sitting-room on the first floor.

Elisabeth welcomed her with all her wonted charm and sweetness. There
was a shade of gravity in her manner as she spoke of Sara's engagement,
but no hint of annoyance. She dwelt solely on Tim's disappointment and
her own, exhibiting no bitterness, but only a rather wistful regret that
another had succeeded where Tim had failed.

"And now," she said, drawing Sara out on to the balcony, where she had
been sitting prior to the latter's arrival, "and now, tell me about the
lucky man."

Sara found it a little difficult to describe the man she loved to the
mother of the man she didn't love, but finally, by dint of skilful
questioning, Elisabeth elicited the information she sought.

"Forty-three!" she exclaimed, as Sara vouchsafed his age. "But that's
much too old for you, my dear!"

Sara shook her head.

"Not a bit," she smiled back.

"It seems so to me," persisted Elisabeth, regarding her with judicial
eyes. "Somehow you convey such an impression of youth. You always remind
me of spring. You are so slim and straight and vital--like a young
sapling. However, perhaps Mr. Trent also has the faculty of youth. Youth
isn't a matter of years, after all," she added contemplatively.

"Now go on," she commanded, after a moment. "Tell me what he looks
like."

Sara laughed and plunged into a description of Garth's personal
appearance.

"And he's got queer eyes--tawny-coloured like a dog's," she wound up,
"with a quaint little patch of blue close to each of the pupils."

Elisabeth leaned forward, and beneath the soft laces of her gown the
rise and fall of her breast quickened perceptibly.

"Patches of blue?" she repeated.

"Yes--it sounds as though the colours had run, doesn't i