ed it all right," she said. "What a useless
little thing I am! I can do nothing but dance and sing and talk. Shall I
talk to you, squire? We don't want light to talk, and I'm dying to tell
you what I've discovered."

"Well, child, well--I hate a mess on the floor like that. Well, what is
it you've got to say to me, Fluff? It's really unreasonable of Frances
not to come. She must have finished her tea long ago."

"Of course she has finished her tea; she is talking to Mr. Arnold. He
came all the way from Australia to have this talk with her. I'm so glad.
You'll find out what a useful, dear girl Frances is by and by, when you
never have her to trim your lamps."

"What do you mean, you saucy little thing? When I don't have Frances;
what do you mean?"

"Why, you can't have her when she's--she's married. It must be
wonderfully interesting to be married; I suppose I shall be some day.
Weren't you greatly excited long, long ago, when you married?"

"One would think I lived in the last century, miss. As to Frances,
well--well, she knows my wishes. Where did you say she was? Really, I'm
very much disturbed to-day; I had a shock, too, this morning--oh!
nothing that you need know about; only Frances might be reasonable.
Listen to me, Fluff; your father is in India, and, it so happens, can
not have you with him at present, and your mother, poor soul, poor, dear
soul! she's dead; it was the will of Heaven to remove her, but if there
is a solemn duty devolving upon a girl, it is to see to her parents,
provided they are with her. Frances has her faults, but I will say, as a
rule, she knows her duty in this particular."

The squire got up restlessly as he spoke, and, try as she would, Fluff
found she could no longer keep him quiet in the dark south parlor. He
went to the open window and called his daughter in a high and peevish
voice. Frances, however, was nowhere within hearing.

The fact was, when they were quite alone, Philip took her hand and said,
almost peremptorily:

"There is a seat under the elm-trees; we can talk there without being
disturbed."

"It has come," thought Frances. "I thought I might have been spared
to-night. I have no answer ready--I don't know what is before me. The
chances are that I must have nothing to say to Philip; every chance is
against our marrying, and yet I can not--I know I can not refuse him
to-night."

They walked slowly together through the gathering dusk. When they
reached the seat un