nd her whole plans to a man
who graciously accepts the sacrifice as a matter of course."

"I was afraid that that would be your answer," he said gravely. "And yet
I was not disposed to let the chance of happiness go without at least
knowing that it was so. I can quite understand that you do not even feel
that I am really in earnest. So small did I feel my chances were, that I
should have waited for a time before I risked almost certain refusal,
had it not been that you are on the point of going abroad for two years.
And two years is a long time to wait when one feels that one's chance is
very small at the end of that time. Well, it is of no use saying
anything more about it. I may as well say good-bye at once, for I shall
pack up and go. Good-bye, dear; I hope that you are wrong, and that some
day you will make some man worthy of you happy, but when the time comes
remember that I prophesy that he will not in the slightest degree
resemble the man you picture to yourself now. I think that the saying
that extremes meet is truer than those that assert that like meets like;
but whoever he is I hope that he will be someone who will make you as
happy as I should have tried to do."

"Good-bye, Cuthbert," she said, frankly, "I think this has all been very
silly, and I hope that by the time we meet again you will have forgotten
all about it."

There was something in his face, as she looked up into it, that told her
what she had before doubted somewhat, that he had been really in earnest
for once in his life, and she added, "I do hope we shall be quite good
friends when we meet again, and that you will then see I am quite right
about this."

He smiled, gave her a little nod, and then dropping her hand sauntered
into the house.

"It is the most foolish thing I have ever heard of," she said to
herself, pettishly, as she looked after him. "I can't think how such an
idea ever occurred to him. He must have known that even if I had not
determined as I have done to devote myself to our cause, he was the last
sort of man I should ever have thought of marrying. Of course he is nice
and I always thought so, but what is niceness when he has no aims, no
ambitions in life, and he is content to waste it as he is doing."

Five minutes later Anna Treadwyn joined her in the garden.

"So I was right after all, Mary?"

"How do you know, do you mean to say that he has told you?"

"Not exactly, but one can use one's eyes, I suppose. He said