r. Hammond's earlier letters came the engagement ring; no
half-hoop of brilliants or sapphires, rubies or emeralds, no gorgeous
triple circlet of red, white, and green; but only a massive band of dead
gold, on the inside of which was engraved this posy--'For ever.'

Mary thought it the loveliest ring she had ever seen in her life.

May was half over and the last patch of snow had vanished from the crest
of Helvellyn, from Eagle's Crag and Raven's Crag, and Coniston Old Man.
Spring--slow to come along these shadowy gorges--had come in real
earnest now, spring that was almost summer; and Lady Maulevrier's
gardens were as lovely as dreamland. But it was an unpeopled paradise.
Mary had the grounds all to herself, except at those stated times when
the Fraeulein, who was growing lazier and larger day by day in her
leisurely and placid existence, took her morning and afternoon
constitutional on the terrace in front of the drawing-room, or solemnly
perambulated the shrubberies.

On fine days Mary lived in the garden, save when she was far afield
learning the domestic arts from the cottagers. She read French and
German, and worked conscientiously at her intellectual education, as
well as at domestic economy. For she told herself that accomplishments
and culture might be useful to her in her married life. She might be
able to increase her husband's means by giving lessons abroad, or taking
pupils at home. She was ready to do anything. She would teach the
stupidest children, or scrub floors, or bake bread. There was no service
she would deem degrading for his sake. She meant when she married to
drop her courtesy title. She would not be Lady Mary Hammond, a poor
sprig of nobility, but plain Mrs. Hammond, a working man's wife.

Lesbia's presentation was over, and had realised all Lady Kirkbank's
expectations. The Society papers were unanimous in pronouncing Lord
Maulevrier's sister the prettiest _debutante_ of the season. They
praised her classical features, the admirable poise of her head, her
peerless complexion. They described her dress at the drawing-room; they
described her 'frocks' in the Park and at Sandown. They expatiated on
the impression she had made at great assemblies. They hinted at even
Royal admiration. All this, frivolous fribble though it might be, Lady
Maulevrier read with delight, and she was still more gratified by
Lesbia's own account of her successes. But as the season advanced
Lesbia's letters to her grand