was to afford Miss Liston every chance of appraising
his character and plumbing the depths of his soul.

I may say at once that I did not regret this course of action; for the
effect of it was to allow me a chance of talking to Pamela Myles, and
Pamela was exactly the sort of a girl to beguile the long pleasant
morning hours of a holiday in the country. No one had told Pamela that
she was going to be put in a book, and I don't think it would have made
any difference had she been told. Pamela's attitude towards books was
one of healthy scorn, confidently based on admitted ignorance. So we
never spoke of them, and my cousin Dora condoled with me more than once
on the way in which Miss Liston, false to the implied terms of her
invitation, deserted me in favor of Sir Gilbert, and left me to the
mercies of a frivolous girl. Pamela appeared to be as little aggrieved
as I was. I imagined that she supposed that Chillington would ask her
to marry him some day before very long, and I was sure she would accept
him; but it was quite plain that, if Miss Liston persisted in making
Pamela her heroine, she would have to supply from her own resources a
large supplement of passion. Pamela was far too deficient in the
commodity to be made anything of, without such reinforcement, even by
an art more adept at making much out of nothing than Miss Liston's
straightforward method could claim to be.

A week passed, and then, one Friday morning, a new light burst on me.
Miss Liston came into the garden at eleven o'clock and sat down by me
on the lawn. Chillington and Pamela had gone riding with the squire,
Dora was visiting the poor. We were alone. The appearance of Miss
Liston at this hour (usually sacred to the use of the pen), no less
than her puzzled look, told me that an obstruction had occurred in the
novel. Presently she let me know what it was.

"I'm thinking of altering the scheme of my story, Mr. Wynne," said she.
"Have you ever noticed how sometimes a man thinks he's in love when he
isn't really?"

"Such a case sometimes occurs," I acknowledged.

"Yes, and he doesn't find out his mistake----"

"Till they're married?"

"Sometimes, yes," she said, rather as though she were making an
unwilling admission. "But sometimes he sees it before--when he meets
somebody else."

"Very true," said I, with a grave nod.

"The false can't stand against the real." pursued Miss Liston; and then
she fell into meditative silence. I stole a glanc