ou know," said he, "it's rather pleasant to feel that one is
missed?"

Raby said nothing, but began to feel a desire to be safely back in the
drawing-room.

"Do you know we drank toasts to-day, like the old knights, to our lady
loves?" continued Scarfe.

"Indeed," replied Raby, as unconcernedly as she could.

"Yes--and shall I tell you the name I pledged? Ah, I see you know,
Raby."

"Mr Scarfe, I want to go back to the drawing-room; please take me."

Scarfe took her hand. His head was swimming, partly with excitement,
partly with the effects of the supper.

"Not till I tell you I love you, and--"

"Mr Scarfe, I don't want to hear all this," said Raby, snatching her
hand away angrily, and moving to the door.

He seized it again rudely.

"You mean you don't care for me?" asked he.

"I want to go away," said she.

"Tell me first," said he, detaining her; "do you mean you will not have
me--that you don't love me?"

"I don't," said she.

"Then," said he, sober enough now, and standing between her and the
door, "there is another question still Is the reason because some one
else in this house has--"

"Mr Scarfe," said Raby quietly, "don't you think, when I ask you to let
me go, it is not quite polite of you to prevent me?"

"Please excuse me," he said apologetically. "I was excited, and forgot;
but, Raby, do let me warn you, for your sake, to beware of this fellow
Jeffreys. No, let me speak," said he, as she put up her hand to stop
him. "I will say nothing to offend you. You say you do not care for
me, and I have nothing to gain by telling you this. If he has--"

"Mr Scarfe, you are quite mistaken; do, please, let me go."

Scarfe yielded, bitterly mortified and perplexed. His vanity had all
along only supposed one possible obstacle to his success with Raby, and
that was a rival. That she would decline to have him for any other
reason had been quite beyond his calculations, and he would not believe
it now.

Jeffreys may not have actually gone as far as to propose to her, but, so
it seemed, there was some understanding between them which barred
Scarfe's own chance. The worst of it all was that to do the one thing
he would have liked to do would be to spoil his own chance altogether.
For Raby, whether she cared for Jeffreys or not, would have nothing to
say to Scarfe if he was the means of his ruin.

The air during the next few days seemed charged with thunder. Mrs
Rimbolt was in a state of