at the notion, and Erle had never asked her to do so.

Evelyn was as much in love as ever, but her engagement had not
satisfied her; every one told her what a perfect lover Erle was--so
devoted, so generous. Indeed, he was perfection in her eyes, but still
something was lacking. Outwardly she could find no fault with him, but
there were times when she feared that she did not make him happy; and
yet, if she ever told him so, he would overwhelm her with kind
affectionate speeches.

Yes, he was fond of her; but why was he so changed and quiet when they
were alone together? What had become of the frank sunshiny look, the
merry laugh, the careless indolence that had always belonged to Erle?
She never seemed to hear his laugh now; his light-hearted jokes, and
queer provoking speeches, were things of the past. He was older,
graver; and sometimes she fancied there was a careworn look on his
face. He was always very indignant if she hinted at this--he always
refuted such accusations with his old eagerness; but nevertheless
Evelyn often felt oppressed by a sense of distance, as though the real
Erle were eluding her. The feeling was strong upon her when she read
that letter; and the weeks of separation that followed were scarcely
happy ones.

And still worse, their first meeting was utterly disappointing. He had
come to the station to welcome them, and seen after their luggage, and
had questioned about their journey; his manner had been perfectly
kind, but there had been no eager glow of welcome in his eyes. Lady
Maltravers said he looked ill and wearied, and Evelyn felt wretched.
But it was the few minutes during which her aunt had left them
together that disappointed her most; he had not taken the seat by her
at once, but had stood looking moodily into the fire; and though at
her first word he had tried to rouse himself, the effort was painfully
evident. "He is not happy; there is something on his mind," thought
the poor girl, watching him. "There is something that has come between
us, and that he fears to tell me."

Just then he looked up, and their eyes met.

"I am afraid I am awfully stupid this evening, Eva," he said,
apologetically; "but I was up late with Uncle Rolf last night."

"Yes," she answered, gently; "I know you have had a terrible time; how
I longed to be with you and help you. I did not enjoy myself at all.
Poor Mr. Huntingdon; but as you told Aunt Adela, he is not really
worse."

"No, he is just the s