bruary. You heard, of course?"

"Avice told me. I must congratulate you now. I suppose you are very
happy?"

"_He_ is!" laughed Truda meaningly. "Quite daft about me! You met him,
of course, down at The Shanty, and he liked you awfully much. We have
often talked of you, and arranged to have you down when we have a party
to entertain."

Hope smiled with stiff lips. He had liked her "awfully much," had he?
So much that he had wished to have her as a visitor when Truda was his
wife! Oh, what a fool, fool, fool she had been to imagine for a moment
that he had really cared!

"You will live in the country, I suppose?" she remarked; and again Truda
laughed and wagged her head.

"He thinks we will, and I am very meek and submissive _note_, but I'll
have a town-house before a year is over; you see if I don't! What is
the use of all my lovely clothes in a poky little bit of a village?
Would you like to see my dresses? I'll take you with me to the
dressmaker's some day if you like."

"Thank you, but I am afraid I could not spare the time. It is very kind
of you to ask me."

"Oh, not a bit! It would have amused me and been a day off for mamma.
Still writing songs and giving story-telling entertainments, are you?
Oh, I heard all about it. I was bothered to death to find engagements
for you." Truda lay back in her chair and looked curiously into the
fair, troubled face. "Seen anything of Ralph Merrilies lately?"

Hope's embarrassment was swallowed up in surprise at so casual a
reference to a future husband. "No," she said emphatically--"not for
nearly six months. I never meet him except at my aunt's house, and I go
there very seldom. He does not call on us in our flat."

"I wonder why not. He was awfully smitten with you; and wasn't. I
furious about it? He had been quite attentive to me before you came,
and then he had eyes for no one else. I believe I was quite jealous of
you, dear."

"You had no reason to be. You feel that now, don't you?" said Hope
gently, and Truda gave a complacent little laugh.

"Oh, I don't mind now. He may care as much as he likes. Reggie is a
good little soul; I'm quite satisfied with him."

"_Reggie_!"

"Reggie, of course--Charles Reginald Blake. Who else should it be?
Hope Charrington, you _don't_ mean to tell me that you imagined--"

"Of course I did! It's your own fault. You told me--don't you
remember?--you told me yourself that you liked him, and warned me-