out.

Hilda came down in her rose-colored silk, and Rivers did not wonder that
Judy thought of the flowers when she looked at her.

Hilda was unfeignedly glad to see him, and they had a pleasanter evening
than any since Judy's advent in Philippa Terrace. Rivers paid a great
deal of attention to the smallest and youngest member of the party, and
not only completely won Hilda's heart by so doing, but induced Quentyns
to look at his little sister-in-law with new eyes, and to discover for
the first time, that under certain conditions that wistful little face
could be both lovely and charming.

"Remember about the inevitable," said Rivers, as he bade the child
good-night.

"What did Mr. Rivers mean, Judy?" said Hilda. "Oh, Judy, what flushed
cheeks!--I did wrong to let you sit up, but you seemed so happy--you
seemed to take such a fancy to Mr. Rivers."

"He was disagreeable to me--very disagreeable," said Judy, "but I liked
him."

"And what did he mean by reminding you of the inevitable?" continued
Hilda.

"It was in that way he was disagreeable," replied Judy. "I can't
explain, Hilda darling; good-night--I am going to bed now."

That evening, in their own room, Hilda came suddenly to her husband's
side.

"Jasper, don't you think you might forget about it now?" she said
timidly.

"Forget about what, Hilda?" He had been genial and pleasant until she
began to speak; now his face stiffened in every outline, and the look
came over it which always took poor Hilda's courage away.

"We were so happy to-night," she began in a faltering voice--"we had
quite the best evening we have had since----" here she hesitated.

"Since Judy came," pursued Jasper. "Yes, that goes without saying, there
were four of us--even the dearest friends are dull when there are three,
and of course Rivers is capital company, he's quite the best fellow all
round I ever met."

"Oh, yes!" said Hilda, a little impatiently, "but I don't want to talk
of him. Jasper dear, let us forget, let us--oh, let us be as we were
before."

Tears choked her voice, she turned her head away.

"I am so tired," she said suddenly; "I am the sort of girl who wants
sunshine, I am so tired of being without it."

"When you talk in that metaphorical style I fail to understand you,"
said Quentyns. "There's not the least cloud between us that I am aware
of, and if you are not in the sunshine, Hilda, I am afraid it is your
own fault. I have done everything in my power