be indifferent? How you must hate him!"

"As I did you."

"And do still? Thank you. But I wish you joy. When is it to be?"

"I tell you there is absolutely nothing between us. Mr. Purling is, to
the best of my belief, engaged already."

"Not with his mother's consent, surely? Why, then, has she made so
much of you?"

"No; not with her consent; indeed, it is quite against her wish. Mrs.
Purling as much as told me that if her son married this cousin he
would be disinherited. They do not agree very well together now."

"It's all hers--the old woman's--in her own right?"

"So far as I know."

Gilly Jillingham lay back in his chair and mused for a while.

"It's not a bad game if the cards play true."

His evil genius, had he been present, might have hinted that sometimes
the cards played for Mr. Jillingham a little too true.

"Not a bad game. Phillipa, how do you stand with this old beldame?"

"She pretends the most ardent affection for me."

"There are no other relatives, no one she would take up if this son
gave unpardonable offence?"

"Not that I know of. Besides, she calls me her dear daughter already."

"And would adopt you, doubtless, if the cub were got out of the way.
Yes, it can be done, I believe, and you can do it, Phillipa, if you
please. Only persuade the old lady to make you the heiress of the
Purlings, and there will be an end to your troubles--and mine."

Soon after this conversation Miss Fanshawe returned to Purlington. The
heiress smothered her with caresses.

"I shall not let you go away again. We have missed you more than I can
say."

"And you also, Mr. Harold? Are you glad to see me again?"

Harold bowed courteously.

"Of course; I have been counting the hours to Miss Fanshawe's return."

"Fibs! I can't believe it."

By-and-by she came to him.

"Why cannot we be friends, Mr. Purling? It pains me to be hated as you
hate me."

"You are really quite mistaken," Harold began.

"I am ready to prove my friendship. I know all about Miss
Driver--there!"

"Do you know where she is at this present moment?" Harold asked,
eagerly.

"You really wish to know? Your mother will tell me, I daresay. How
hard hit you must be! But there is my hand on it. You shall have all
the help that I can give."

Next day she told him.

"Miss Driver is at Harbridge."

"In service?"

"No; at home. They live there. Her father is a Custom-house officer."

That evening Harold informed his mother tha