ere even if I were enjoying it
ever so much--which," she added, "I am not."

"You have at least made that quite clear," Eleanor said drily.

"Then you do not mind our changing?" Margaret said. She found Eleanor's
manner quite inscrutable. After her first passionate exclamation that it
was impossible she seemed to accept Margaret's decision without any
argument whatever, and yet the latter felt that the matter was by no
means settled yet.

"Does it matter if I do mind?" said Eleanor. Her face was very white and
her eyes gazed unflinchingly into Margaret's. The latter was frightened
at the tragic despair they expressed, but she answered firmly enough.

"Yes, of course, I am sorry if you do mind very much, but I mean to
confess all the same."

"Then there is nothing more to be said, is there?" Eleanor answered, and
as she spoke she rose to her feet. "Come, I hear the carriage wheels on
the gravel. Mrs. Murray has returned from her drive. Let us go to her at
once."

She walked rapidly out of the summer-house in the direction of the flight
of steps that led to the upper garden, and after a momentary hesitation
Margaret rose and followed her. The path was wide enough for two to walk
abreast if one of the two did not occupy the middle of it, but as that
was just what Eleanor was doing, Margaret was obliged to follow behind.

Eleanor walked on in silence, apparently of the opinion that the last
word had been said; but Margaret, who was looking doubtfully at the back
of Eleanor's erectly held head, could not bear to think that they were to
part in that constrained way.

"Eleanor!" she exclaimed impulsively, taking a quick step or two forward
and laying one hand timidly on the other's arm as if she would have
detained her for a moment, "I wish you would say that you were not angry
with me."

"What right have I to be angry?" Eleanor said very coldly, as with a
slight but decisive movement she freed her arm from Margaret's touch.
"Only it would have been better for me if we had never met."

"But it is no worse for you than it is for me," Margaret said eagerly,
trying again, but quite unsuccessfully, to walk beside Eleanor. "I
suppose we shall both get terrible scoldings. I from grandfather and
Mrs. Murray, and you from Mrs. Danvers, but they cannot go on being angry
with us for always, can they? And Eleanor, if it is your singing lessons
that you are minding about so much, could you not walk up here from
Seabourne every