N the first place, Millicent, I want to know why you encourage that man's attentions ?" asked the Squire, pushing a chair towards her, into which she gracefully sank.

"Oh! Guardy, why shouldn't he care for me? He's such a perfect gentleman. I find pleasure in his society, and we really know very few nice people," sighed Millicent, determined to show spirit, if need be.

"We know people in our own sphere of life who respect us, and whom I esteem. Do you think that

patronising scoundrel shall come here dictating to me about whom you shall visit-boast about taking you to his Duchesses? I happen to know more about her Grace's antecedents than you do; and as for Lancaster, he's the last man on earth to make any woman happy."

S

Millicent felt the crisis was coming; at last she had to face her guardian's anger, and she trembled.

"I don't see why I'm to be talked to like this," she said, rising hastily to her feet, " as if I were a child or a fool. I am rich and of age; I can choose whom I please. I am tired of living the life of a bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage."

The Squire smiled at her outburst, it was so unlike Millicent ; she always escaped so easily from unpleasant scenes.

He saw she

was at bay, and he did not wish to drive her to extremes.

The fact is, you love the fellow, I suppose?"

Millicent twisted her delicate lace handkerchief into a ball, and fidgetted with the rings on her fingers.

"We do care for each other, dear Guardy," she said, meekly.

The Squire was struggling to master his rising agitation. It was a blow to him-that she saw. He had clearly set his heart on her marrying Bertram.

Millicent fancied she would be drawn into an elopement with the dashing Colonel. She could stand no more worries for the present; she would prefer to feign a part and deceive Mr. Armitage sooner than have her nerves racked by scenes like these.

"If you think he cares for anything but your money, let me tell you that you're mightily mistaken. Such a marriage must end in your ultimate ruin."

Why?" asked Millicent, palpitating. "I'm not ugly or repulsive, or even old. He-he is very fond of me indeed, only you are so disagreeable to him when he calls."

My dear girl, I have but your interest at heart. I've been in the place of a father to you for years. Do I want to see you commit a social suicide? I know what this man is better than you do. I mistrust him. That light-hearted gaiety is all very well, but you want affection for a life-long union."

No! Millicent did not want affection; she only cared for the gratification of her ambitions, for social success, for the homage of titled people who lived in first-rate style and went to Court. The picture of herself photographed in her Court dress often flashed before her mind and gave her secret delight.

Millicent took a very sound view of her position. The world was, of course, charmingly adapted for the enjoyment of young ladies situated as she was. There were the county families to visit,

and this pleasant town house in the West-End for her to disport herself in during the season; there were also various members of the aristocracy whom she occasionally visited—not the very big guns, they would be approachable solely through the Colonel; but rather the tail end, who had crossed the social rubicon, and were names and nothing more. First-class professional people also came under As for the strugglers in life's battles-the shabby genteel and third-rate, who found taxes a burden and viewed plays from the pit-they were no more to her than the very common people, the rank and file, who are often dirty, hungry, and depressed.

her notice.

Parliament passed excellent laws, and modern fiction and fancy work were pleasant; so, also, were musical "At Homes," balls, operas, and the exhibitions of the Royal Academy. The Christian religion was a peaceful and by no means burdensome form of worship; and modern millinery was so charming and æsthetic that baby bonnets and pompadour parasols, to say nothing of delicious frills of French black lace, were things to be enthusiastic over. Marriage was, or ought to be, the ultimate destiny of every girl. Why should anything disagreeable upset her plans and schemes when Fate pointed to everything satisfactorily, and it seemed as if even the laws of the land and the English climate were all in favour of such as she.

The climate might torture the poor, and the laws seem hard to strugglers, but she had been wafted into a clearer, brighter atmosphere by some strange caprice of destiny, and here was her guardian almost making her cry because he had taken a dislike to darling Alsager; mean, capricious spite to upset her because she would not marry Bertram. She must scheme more in future and play a part; it was all that was left her.

The Squire sighed. Here was Millicent opposing his wishes; and there was Bertram-fascinating, light-hearted, and genial, the sort of man to make a thoroughly safe marriage.

Millicent had none of those changeful experiences through which the poor sometimes learn wisdom. Love was not breathing nobler aims into her soul; it scarcely, as yet, lent a charm to her musings. It neither cheered nor enthralled. She had none of those infatuated cravings that afflict the morbid. painfully sensitive, but Millicent's

Brains make men and women mind was only vividly aroused

when appealed to by fashion; hence, being shallow and passionless, she had suffered nothing.

It followed that she was unsuspicious. She considered her guardian's insulting allusions to the Colonel as vulgar warnings beneath her notice. What could a man of his antecedents see to admire in Alsager's form, intelligence and culture? How could the mentally or physically blind appreciate exquisite tints or loveliness of any kind? Denied by nature such appreciation, her guardian was to be pitied.

"Suppose we leave off discussing the matter," she said, endeavouring to compose herself, and, turning to Mr. Armitage, laid her hand on his. "If it really distresses you, I will try and forget him."

She covered her face with her hands in a well-assumed attitude of contrition. "No surrender" was still her motto, though she feigned acquiescence, and the first false step in deceit had begun.

"You have received letters from the man, and you have encouraged him," the Squire answered, with grim disbelief; "but I distinctly forbid you to receive him here. I object to his mode of life; he's done Bertram no good, I find. Ah! Milly, child, there was a time when I thought you two would never have left me, and that I should have seen you my son's wife."

"And because I will not marry him, is that any reason why I'm never to marry anyone else?" asked Millicent, looking her guardian steadily in the face; but he did not care to meet her gaze just then. Of the two his voice was the less steady when he next spoke.

"You will never have my consent to your marriage with Colonel Lancaster-remember that; and you ought to know that I never

change."

She, listening, turned white to the lips; a wistful, pained look stole to her expression, Could they both defy the anger of this unjust man? Some words Alsager had whispered in her ear that very afternoon rang through her brain. He had bade her trust him, nerve herself for a fatal step, consent to a secret marriage ; for it had never occurred to him to hazard any doubts as to her being mistress or not of her own property, and rumour invariably alluded most satisfactorily to it. He had certain reasons for wishing to avoid any close investigation of his past career by the Squire till Millicent was his wife, when he could carry things through with a high hand.