that one
contracts an uncomfortable habit when the sun _does_ shine, of looking
out for squalls, a fear that, sans doute, considerably damps the
pleasures of the noon. But the fear is natural, isn't it, more's the
pity, when one has been often caught?

I chanced to ask her that night what made her so fond of Earlscourt. She
turned her fearless, flashing eyes half laughingly, half haughtily on
me, the color brighter in her face:

"I should have thought you would rather have asked how could I, or any
other woman whom he stooped to notice, fail to love him? There are few
hearts and intellects so noble: he is as superior to you ball-room
loungers, you butterfly flutterers, as the stars to that chandelier."

"Bien oblige!" laughed I. "But that is just what I meant. Most young
ladies are afraid of him; you never were?"

She laughed contemptuously.

"Afraid! You do not know much of me. It is precisely his giant
intellect that first drew me to him, when I heard his speech on the
Austrian question. Do you remember how the Lords listened to him so
quietly that you could have heard a feather fall? I like that silence of
theirs when they hear what they admire, better than I do the cheers of
the other house. Afraid of him! What a ludicrous idea! Do you suppose I
should be afraid of any one? It is only those who are conceited or
cowardly, who are timid. If you have nothing to assume, or to conceal,
what cause have you to fear? I love, honor, reverence Lord Earlscourt,
God knows; but fear him--never!"

"Not even his anger, if you ever incurred it?" I asked her, amused with
her haughty indignation.

"Certainly not. Did I merit it, I would come to him frankly, and ask his
pardon, and he would give it; if I did not deserve it, _he_ would be the
one to repent."

She looked far more attractive than many a handsomer woman, and
infinitely more noble than a more tractable one. She was admirably
fitted for Earlscourt, if he trusted her; but it was just possible he
might some day _mis_trust and _mis_understand her, and then there might
be the devil to pay!

II.

THE FIRST SHADOW.

Lemongenseidlitz was a charming little Bad. Beatrice Boville
and her aunt Lady Mechlin, Earlscourt and I, had been there
six weeks. His brother peers--of whom there were scores at
Lemongenseidlitz--complimented Earlscourt on his fiancee.

"So you're caught at last?" said an octogenarian minister, who was as
sprightly as a schoolboy. "Well, my