him.

Hilda was reading aloud to Judy when Babs entered the room, and said in
her important, calm way:

"Jasper wants you, Hilda, and you are to go to him this minute."

Hilda could read beautifully, and Judy had lain in a dream of rapture,
listening to the beloved voice as it told the old story of Christian and
his pilgrimage. Now the wistful, distressed look crept back into her
face.

"Never mind, dear," said Hilda, bending forward and kissing the child.
"I shall not be long away."

Quentyns was waiting for his wife in the large conservatory which opened
into the drawing room. It was nearly empty of flowers and plants now,
but was still a pleasant place to lounge about in.

"Well, my love," he said in his pleasant tone. "Why, how pale you look,
Hilda. I am not going to scold you, darling--oh, no, not for the world;
but I haven't got too much of your society during these last few days. I
don't blame you, and I am not jealous; but if you _could_ spare me half
an hour now, there are one or two things I want to talk over with you."

"Of course I can spare you half an hour, Jasper, or an hour for that
matter, if you want it," replied Hilda cheerfully. "Judy is much, much
better to-night, and I am feeling quite happy about her."

Hilda slipped her hand through her husband's arm as she spoke; he gave
the little hand an affectionate squeeze and drew his wife close to his
side.

"I am glad Judy is better," he said. "What I have to propose will be
quite convenient then, Hilda. I want to go back to town by the first
train in the morning. I have heard from Rivers, and----What is it, my
love? You really do look very pale. You are overdoing yourself, and I
cannot allow it. Now that Judy is better you must rest. I shall get Dr.
Pettifer to look you up and give you a tonic when we get back to town."

"Stop, Jasper," said Hilda suddenly. "I am not tired nor worn out in
any way. I look pale now because my heart beats--because----Jasper, I
cannot go to town with you to-morrow. I know you must go; of course, I
quite understand that; but I am not going--not until Judy is well enough
to be moved."

Quentyns did not reply for several seconds, then he said in a gentle
tone, which did not betray an atom of his true feeling:

"I half expected you to say something of this sort, Hilda; I cannot
pretend that I am not sorry. The fine weather is coming on; the London
season will soon be at its height. I do not mean for a moment to im