always good to me to see you," he said softly. "You're one of the
best things in my world, Marjorie, little maid."

She bent her head, so that her soft cheek touched his hand, and what man
could draw his hand away from that caress? Not Hugh Alston.

And now came Phipps with the tea, which he arranged on the small table
and retired.

"It's all right between them two," he announced in the kitchen a little
later. "She'll be missus here after all, I'll lay ten to one."

"Law bless and save us!" said cook. "I thought it was off, and she was
going to marry young Mr. Arundel."

Ordinarily, Marjorie had the sensible appetite of a young country girl.
To-day she ate nothing. She sipped her tea, and looked with great
soulful, miserable eyes at Hugh.

"And now, little girl, come, tell me."

"Oh, Hugh, not now. It is so difficult, almost impossible to tell you. I
wrote that letter days and days before I posted it, and then I made up
my mind all of a sudden to post it, and regretted it the moment after."

"Why?"

She shook her head.

"There is something wrong between you and Tom? Tell me, girlie!"

She was silent for a moment. "There is--everything wrong between Tom
and--and me. But it is my--my fault, not his. Oh, Hugh, it is all my
fault!"

"How?"

"I--I don't love him!" the girl gasped.

"Eh?" Hugh started. He sat back and stared at her. "Why--you--I--I
thought--"

"So did I!" she cried, bursting into tears, "but I was wrong--wrong--all
wrong. I didn't understand!" Her breast was heaving, there were sobs in
her throat, sobs she fought and struggled against.

The dawn of understanding came to him. He believed he saw. She had
fancied herself in love with Tom, and now she knew she was not--how did
she know? For the simple reason that she found she was in love with
someone else. Now who on earth could it be? he wondered.

"Won't you tell me all about it, dear?"

"I--I can't. Don't ask me--I ought not to have written, I ought not to
have come. I wish--I wish I had not. It is my fault, not Tom's; he is
good and kind and--and patient with me, and I know I am unkind and cross
to him, and I feel ashamed of myself!"

"Marjorie!"

"Yes, Hugh?" She looked up.

"Tell me the truth, dear," he said gravely. "Do you realise that you
are not in love with Tom because you know now that you are in love with
someone else?"

She did not answer in words, nodding speechlessly.

"Is he a good man, dear?"

"The best in the