ature" for an aunt, I'd see
her in Timbuctoo first--I would! But then I forget the poor child has
nothing in the world, and you little more, and "love in a cottage" is
all very well, Dick, up to a certain time. Of course, it is all right
in novels but you are neither of you in a novel, and that is the worst
of it. If Providence had seen fit to make me Lisbeth's aunt, now,
things might have been very different; but alas! it was not to be.
Under the circumstances, the best thing you can do, for her sake and
your own, is to turn your back upon Arcadia and try to forget it all as
soon as possible in the swirl of London and everyday life.

Yours,
CHARLOTTE C.

P.S. Of course, Romance is dead ages and ages ago; still, it really
would be nice if you could manage to run off with her some fine night!

Thus the fiat had gone forth, the time of waiting was accomplished;
to-day Lisbeth must choose between Selwyn and myself.

This thought was in my mind as I strode along the river path, filling
me with that strange exhilaration which comes, I suppose, to most of us
when we face some climax in our lives.

But now the great question, How would she decide? leaped up and began
to haunt me. Because a woman smiles upon a man, he is surely a most
prodigious fool to flatter himself that she loves him, therefore. How
would she decide? Nay, indeed; what choice had she between affluence
and penury? Selwyn was wealthy and favoured by her aunt, Lady
Warburton, while as for me, my case was altogether the reverse. And
now I called to mind how Lisbeth had always avoided coming to any
understanding with me, putting me off on one pretence or another, but
always with infinite tact. So Fear came to me, and Doubt began to rear
its head; my step grew slower and slower, till, reaching the Shrubbery
gate, I leaned there in doubt whether to proceed or not. Summoning up
my resolution, however, I went on, turning in the direction of the
orchard, where I knew she often sat of a morning to read or make a
pretence of sewing.

I had gone but a little way when I caught sight of two distant figures
walking slowly across the lawn, and recognised Lisbeth and Mr. Selwyn.
The sight of him here and at such a time was decidedly unpleasant, and
I hurried on, wondering what could have brought him so early.

Beneath Lisbeth's favourite tree, an ancient apple-tree so gnarled and
rugged that it seemed to have spent all its days tying itself into all
m