ertainly will
never marry any one who does not. Besides--I should have a feeling of
treachery to Margaret."

"Which would be quite absurd and unwarrantable. Think of some better
reason if you want to convince me. I hope still to make you believe that
I do care for you."

Janetta shook her head. "It's no use, Sir Philip. I should be doing very
wrong if I consented, knowing what I do. And besides, there _is_ another
reason. I cannot tell it to you, but indeed there is a good reason for
my not marrying you."

"Has it anything to do with position--or--or money, may I ask? Because
these things are immaterial to me."

"And I'm afraid I did not think about them," said Janetta, with a frank
blush, which made him like her better than ever. "I ought to have
remembered how great an honor you were doing me and been grateful!--no,
it was not that."

"Then you care for some one else? That is what it is."

"I suppose it is," said Janetta.

And then a very different kind of blush began--a blush of shame, which
dyed her forehead and ears and neck with so vivid a crimson hue that Sir
Philip averted his eyes in honest sympathy.

"I'm afraid, then," he said, ruefully, but kindly, "that there's nothing
more to be said."

"Nothing," said Janetta, wishing her cheeks would cool.

Sir Philip rose from his chair, and stood for a moment as if not knowing
whether to go or stay. Janetta rose too.

"If you were to change your mind----" he said.

"This is a thing about which I could not possibly change my mind, Sir
Philip."

"I am sorry for it." And then he took his leave, and Janetta went to her
room to bathe her hot face and to wonder at the way in which the
whirligig of Time brings its revenges.

"Who would have thought it?" she said to herself, half diverted and half
annoyed. "When Miss Polehampton used to lecture me on the difference of
Margaret's position and mine, and when Lady Caroline patronized me, I
certainly never thought that I should be asked to become Lady Ashley. To
take Margaret's place! I have a feeling--and I always had--that he is
the proper husband for her, and that everything will yet come right
between them. If I had said 'yes'--if I only _could_ have said 'yes,'
for the children's sake--I should never have got over the impression
that Margaret was secretly reproaching me! And as it is, she may
reproach me yet. For Wyvis will not make her happy if he marries her:
and she will not make Wyvis happy. And as for