ano commencing its fiery work. She had believed her heart to
be callous to all affection of this nature, it had seemed as dead as
the mummied hyacinth; and now it was a living, suffering thing, and
all alight with love. She had tasted of a new wine, and it burnt her,
and was bitter sweet, and yet she longed for more. And thus, by slow
and sad degrees, she learnt that her life, which had for thirty years
flowed on its quiet way unshadowed by love's wing, must henceforth own
his dominion, and be a slave to his sorrows and caprices. No wonder
that she grew afraid!

But Mildred was a woman of keen insight into character, and it did not
require that her powers of observation should be sharpened by the
condition of her affections, to show her that, however deeply she
might be in love with Arthur Heigham, he was not one little bit in
love with her. Knowing the almost irresistible strength of her own
beauty and attractions, she quickly came to the conclusion--and it was
one that sent a cold chill through her--that there must be some other
woman blocking the path to his heart. For some reason or other, Arthur
had never spoken to her of Angela, either because a man very rarely
volunteers information to a woman concerning his existing relationship
with another of her sex, knowing that to do so would be to depreciate
his value in her eyes, or from an instinctive knowledge that the
subject would not be an agreeable one, or perhaps because the whole
matter was too sacred to him. But she, on her part, was determined to
probe his secret to the bottom. So one sleepy afternoon, when they
were sitting on the museum verandah, about six weeks after the date of
their arrival in the island, she took her opportunity.

Mildred was sitting, or rather half lying, in a cane-work chair,
gazing out over the peaceful sea, and Arthur, looking at her, thought
what a lovely woman she was, and wondered what it was that had made
her face and eyes so much softer and more attractive of late. Miss
Terry was also there, complaining of the heat, but presently she moved
off after an imaginary beetle, and they were alone.

"Oh, by-the-by, Mr. Heigham," Mildred said, presently, "I was going to
ask you a question, if only I can remember what it is."

"Try to remember what it is about. 'Shoes, sealing-wax, cabbages, or
kings.' Does it come under any of those heads?"

"Ah, I remember now. If you had added 'queens,' you would not have
been far out. What I wanted