ng-room, Mr. Meredith," she presently said, as
she and her mother rose from the table and went towards the window. "You
must please try to imagine we are not here."

"I would rather not do that, Miss Verschoyle," he replied, rising to
join them.

"But won't you----? You would not find this claret so bad," said
Laurence, adding, as the other declined: "Well, then, a cigar on the
terrace, if we can dignify it by that name."

"Not now, thank you. Later on, perhaps, if you will join me."

"Then, I will look after your bag. At the station, didn't you say? We
might send Sally's brother, eh, Madge?" hurriedly quitting the room.

Meredith remained with the ladies in the oriel window, whilst the
rough-looking maid-servant awkwardly cleared the dinner table, assisted
now and again by a smiling word from her young mistress.

"You have a good view from here, Mrs. Verschoyle."

"It is good to me, Mr. Meredith. Fortunately, the brickfields are on the
other side; and, seen from here, the part of the ruin, and the old
garden and orchard, have a charm of their own for me. But one misses the
old elms that used to hide the town, which my daughter thinks looks best
when you don't see it," with a smile at the young girl.

"And so do you, dear. Being romantic, you prefer it when there is a mist
over it, and you have to imagine what is behind the veil, don't you?"
replied her daughter, with pretty defiance. "A serious thing to have a
romantic mother, is it not. Mr. Meredith? In these days, too--romance!
She had need have a matter-of-fact daughter, had she not?"

[Illustration: "A SERIOUS THING TO HAVE A ROMANTIC MOTHER, IS IT NOT?"]

He smilingly kept up the same tone, his admiration deepening for the
brave heart that could make a jest of her difficulties. How well the
mother and daughter seemed to understand each other in making the best
of their colourless lives. He soon found they could talk about something
besides the narrow experiences of their everyday world. They were
accustomed to think intelligently, and were not without a spice of
humour, as well as a romance to cast a glamour over their surroundings.
Good listeners, too; showing a desire to hear what was going on in the
world of thought; and, now and again, asking questions which kept his
wits at work for a reply--a not unpleasant exercise to Allan Meredith,
accustomed to use them.

An hour passed quickly away. It was only the uneasy glances the young
girl was beginning