, whose very willfulness has caught and chained him, he knows now
that the thought was a vain one.

She is the one woman in the world for him, her love the one thing
needful to crown his life. Other women may be fairer, other women may
be ready to give him love where this girl gives him but a mocking
tolerance; but no other woman can ever be to him what she is.

Of love and lovers there is no thought in Honor's head this sunny
afternoon. She thinks her cousin has improved, that he has even grown
quite tolerable, and there it ends, so far as she is concerned.

On their way back to the house they pass Launce and Mrs. Dundas walking
very close together, and talking seriously.

Honor looks at her coldly. She does not like the woman. Her bold eyes,
her lithe figure, in its French-cut gown, the very grace and _chic_
that have made Kate Dundas the belle of the county jar upon Honor.

"I am very sorry Launce has gone so far in that quarter," her companion
says, when they are well out of ear-shot. "These fascinating women are
always more or less dangerous."

"Oh, Launce can take care of himself!"

"I doubt it," Brian answered dryly.

"Oh, but he can!" Honor persists, with a laugh. "We all can, for that
matter; indeed, and it's my opinion there is not a susceptible heart in
the whole family."

"Probably not. I don't believe in susceptible hearts myself."

A faint smile stirs her lips as she listens. It was not true, then,
that passionate declaration that has rung in her ears since she first
heard it:

"Heavens, child, how I love you!"

"How would it have been with me now if I had believed him?" she asks
herself. She can quite believe that the loss of this man's love--after
once believing in it--might prove a source of very keen regret to any
girl; but fortunately she had never believed in it; and now it could
never be anything--true or false, faithful or unfaithful--since she has
given her plighted word to Power Magill.

"I wish Launce would go back to Dublin," Brian says after a pause. "He
is only getting himself and other people into mischief down here. Can't
the _pater_ see that?"

"My father can see no fault in Launce--neither can I, for that matter.
I really don't see what harm the poor fellow is doing."

"He is doing harm, Honor--take my word for it! He would be best away."

"We do not think so," she says coldly; and there the matter ends.

It is getting dark as the little party--Honor, her two brothers,