ed at last, and when Lord Bertie joined them in
the evening she gave him all her attention. Things had not progressed
according to Mr. Huntingdon's wishes. Nea could not be induced to look
favorably on Lord Bertie's suit; she pouted and behaved like a spoiled
child when her father spoke seriously to her on the subject. The death
of one of Lord Bertie's sisters had put a stop to the wooing for the
present; but it was understood that he would speak to Nea very
shortly, and after a long and angry argument with her father she was
induced to promise that she would listen to him.

Nea was beginning to feel the weight of her father's inflexible will.
In spite of her gayety and merry speeches, she was hardly happy that
evening. Lord Bertie's heavy speeches and meaningless jokes oppressed
her--how terribly weary she would get of him if he were her husband,
she thought. She was tired of him already--of his commonplace,
handsome face--of his confidential whispers and delicately implied
compliments--and then she looked up and met Maurice's thoughtful gray
eyes fixed on her. Nea never knew why she blushed, or a strange,
restless feeling came over her that moment; but she answered Lord
Bertie pettishly. It was almost a relief when the carriage was
announced, and she was to leave her guests. Maurice, who was going,
stood at the door while Lord Bertie put her in the carriage--a little
gloved hand waved to him out of the darkness--and then the evening was
over.

Mr. Huntingdon had not seemed like himself that night; he had
complained of headache and feverishness, and had confided to Dobson
that perhaps after all Dr. Ainslie was right, and he ought to have
taken more rest.

Somehow he was not the man he had been before his accident;
nevertheless he ridiculed the idea that much was amiss, and talked
vaguely of running down to the sea for a few days.

But not even that determined will of his could shake off the illness
that was creeping over him, and one night when Nea returned from a
brilliant _reunion_ she found Belgrave House a second time in
confusion. Mr. Huntingdon had been taken suddenly ill, and Dr. Ainslie
was in attendance.

By and by a nurse arrived--a certain bright-eyed little Sister
Teresa--and took charge of the sick man. After the first few days of
absolute danger, during which he had been tolerably submissive, Mr.
Huntingdon had desired that he should be kept informed of all matters
connected with an important lawsu