h a sparkle of humour behind the
sternness.

On the way home Mrs. Pennington was stirred to reminiscence. "One of
the first parties I ever attended was in that old house," she said.
"It must have been thirty-five years ago. I was a very young girl--barely
seventeen. General Waite was a most courtly man, and his wife was quite
famous for her beauty. It was there I met Mr. Pennington. He and the
general's nephew, Robert Waite, were great friends. They went to college
together. He disappeared strangely. I remember Gerrard was dread fully
upset about it at the time. It was just before our marriage."

To all this Margaret Elizabeth only half listened. The eyes of the
general lingered reproachfully with her, and perhaps were at the bottom
of that policy of postponement with which Augustus was met when the
inevitable moment came.

Just a little time was all she asked. Mr. McAllister was talking of a
trip to Panama; let him go, and on his return he should have his answer.

Miss Bentley was very sweet as she spoke thus; eminently worth waiting
for. So Augustus went to Panama, and she was left to argue matters with
herself.

During the process she grew pale. Mixed up with her arguments was that
foolish idea that she ought to have heard something from the Candy Man.
Had he seen that item in the _Evening Record_?

Mrs. Pennington noticed the pallor, but treated it lightly. Margaret
Elizabeth was tired out, but now Lent was here she would rest. She was
worn to death herself, but she would recuperate, and surely her niece,
who was years younger, could do the same. She failed to take into
consideration the complications lacking in her own case. In fact, having
brought matters to the present status, Mrs. Pennington allowed herself
to relax.

Mr. Gerrard Pennington looked at Margaret Elizabeth from beneath his
bushy brows. Confound them, what were they doing to her? She had a way
of joining him in the library, and sitting with a book in her lap, which
she seldom read.

One day, laying down his paper, and after a cautious glance over his
shoulder, he remarked: "Did it ever occur to you, Margaret Elizabeth,
that you don't have to marry anybody?"

She stared at him with surprised eyes, in which a smile slowly dawned.
"Why, Uncle Gerry, what do you mean? Of course I don't have to."

"There is a great deal in suggestion," continued Mr. Pennington. "Keep
telling people a certain thing, confront them with it on all occasions,
and