ot is walking, depend upon it it is for some good reason;
trouble is coming to the family in some shape of form."

But Launce only laughs at her, and even Honor will not confess her
belief in this supernatural visitor.

"If it could tell us anything," she says in her grave way, "it would be
different--good might come of it; as it is, it does nothing but scare
away visitors and keep our servants in such a state of terror that they
can't attend to their work. It is really very disagreeable."

"Oh, Honor darling, how can you talk like that?" Belle cries with a
little shiver. "I declare you are almost as bad as Launce."

The lawn at Donaghmore rectory is covered with guests. A table has been
set under the trees, and Mrs. Delorme, in a delightfully cool-looking
dress and with delicate ribbons in her lace cap, is busy making tea.
There are pretty colors, gay voices and bursts of musical laughter on
every hand.

Some of the girls are good-looking, more than one or two are handsome;
and the men in their tennis flannels and gay caps show well by contrast.

"Your cousin is here--he is staying with the Frenches--so mamma had to
ask him," Belle whispers almost nervously; and the next moment Honor
finds herself face to face with Brian Beresford.

She has never seen him since that day he stooped and kissed her under
the cherry-trees. Honor's cheeks turn crimson as she remembers that
passionate kiss.

"Does he think of it?" she wonders as she meets his eyes.

"I thought you had gone back to England," she says. She hardly knows
what she does say, so stupid is she feeling.

"I did go home, but could not stay long; I had business in Ireland that
could not be neglected."

"Business?" she repeats wonderingly.

"Yes," he says gravely--"important business; it may keep me here for
some time yet."

She listens in surprise, but she is too proud to ask him what his
business may be. Perhaps he would not tell her if she did; but he is
nothing to her--less than nothing. Why should she trouble about his
affairs?

"What have you been doing to yourself, Honor?" They have come to the
narrow wire fence that separates the rectory lawn from the rectory
paddock. "You are as pale as a ghost. Have you been fretting?"

For an instant she looks at him coldly, almost angrily; then the tears
come into her eyes. Something in his voice, in the way he is looking
down at her, in the touch of his hand, as he lays it over hers for an
instant, has go