band; and if I could only
see you happily settled, Audrey, I should be perfectly satisfied.'

'Are you so anxious to lose me?' asked the younger girl reproachfully.
'You must find me a man as good as father, then. I am not so sure that I
want to be married; I fancy an old maid's mission will suit me best. I
have too many plans in my head; no respectable man would tolerate me.'

'May I ask what you ladies are talking about?' asked Captain Burnett, as
he sauntered lazily round the screen that, even in summer-time, shut in
the fireplace, and made a cosy corner. Mr. Blake followed him.

Audrey looked at them both calmly.

'I was only suggesting my possible mission as a single woman. Don't you
think I should make a charming old maid, Michael?' and Audrey folded
her beautifully-shaped arms, and drew herself up; but her dimple
destroyed the effect. Cyril Blake darted a quick look at her; then he
crossed the room and sat down by Mrs. Ross, and talked to her and
Geraldine until it was time for him to take his leave.

CHAPTER VI

THE GRAY COTTAGE

'I think I love most people best when they are in adversity; for
pity is one of my prevailing passions.'--MARY WOLSTONECRAFT
GODWIN'S LETTER.

The next morning, as Captain Burnett was strolling across the
tennis-lawn in search of a shady corner where he could read his paper,
he encountered Audrey. She was walking in the direction of the gate, and
had a basket of flowers in her hand.

She was hurrying past him with a nod and a smile, but he coolly stopped
her.

'May I ask where you are going, my Lady Bountiful?' for this was a name
he often called her, perhaps in allusion to her sweet, bountiful nature;
but Audrey, in her simplicity, had never understood the compliment.

She hesitated a moment; and this was so unusual on her part, that
Captain Burnett metaphorically pricked up his ears. To use his own
language, he immediately scented the whole business.

'I am going into the town; but I have a great deal to do,' she returned
quickly. 'Please do not detain me, Michael. I am not like you: I cannot
afford the luxury of idleness.'

'Well, no; it is rather a dear commodity, certainly,' he replied
pleasantly, though that hasty speech made him inwardly wince, as though
someone had touched an unhealed wound. 'Luxury of idleness!' how he
loathed it!

'If you are too long, I shall come and look after you,' he continued
significantly; but to this she made no