Court Netherleigh. Mrs. Henry Wood

rather a doubt—seemed to break upon Lady Grace. "Adela," she whispered, "it is not possible you are still thinking of Captain Stanley?"

      "Where would be the use of that?" was the answer. "He is fighting in India, and I am here: little chance of our paths in life ever again crossing each other."

      "If I really thought your head was still running upon Stanley, I would tell you——"

      "What?" for Grace had stopped.

      "The truth," was the reply, in a low voice. "News of him reached England by the last mail."

      "What news?"

      "Well, I—I hardly know whether you will care much to hear it."

      "Probably not. I should like to, for all that."

      "He is married."

      Adela looked up with a start, and her colour faded. "Married?"

      "He is. He has married his cousin, a Miss Stanley, and it is said they have long been attached to each other. He was a frightful flirt, but he had no heart; I always said it; and I think he was not a good man in other respects."

      The news brought a pang of mortification to Adela; perhaps a deeper pang than that. Some eighteen months back, she saw a good deal of this Captain Stanley; it was thought by shrewd observers that she had lost her heart to him. If so, it was now thrown back upon her.

      And, whether it might have been this, or whether it was the persistent persuasion of her father and mother, ay, and of her sisters, Adela Chenevix consented to accept Mr. Grubb. But she bitterly resented the necessity, and from that hour she deliberately steeled her heart against him.

      Daintily she swept into the room for her first interview with him. He stood in agitation at its upper end—a fine, intellectual man; one, young though he was, to be venerated and loved. She wore a pink-and-white silk dress, and her hair had pink and white roses in it; for Mr. Grubb had come to dinner, and she was already dressed for it. A rich colour shone in her cheeks, her beautiful eyes and features were lighted up with it, and her delicate figure was thrown back—in disdain. Oh, that he could have read it then!

      He never afterwards quite remembered what he said when he approached her. He knew he took her hand. And he believed he whispered words of thanks.

      "They are not due to me," was her answer, delivered with cold equanimity. "My father tells me I must marry you, and I accede to it."

      "May God enable me to reward you for the confidence you repose in me!" he whispered. "If it be given to man to love a wife as one never yet was loved, may it be given to me!"

      She twisted her hand from him with an ungracious movement, for he would have retained it, and walked deliberately across the room, leaving him where he stood, and rang the bell.

      "Tell mamma Mr. Grubb is here," she said to the servant.

      He felt pained: he understood this had been an accorded interview. Like all other lovers, he began to speak of the future—of his hope that she would learn to love him.

      "There should be no misunderstanding between us on this point," she hastily answered; and could it be that there was contempt in her tone? "I have agreed to be your wife; but, until a day or two ago, the possibility of my becoming so had never been suggested to me. Therefore, the love that I suppose ought to accompany this sort of contract is not mine to offer."

      How wondrously calm she spoke—in so matter-of-fact, business-like a way! It struck even him, infatuated though he was.

      "It may come in time," he whispered. "My love shall call forth yours; my——"

      "I hear mamma," interrupted Adela, drawing away from him like a second cruel Barbara Allen.

      "Adela, where's your town house to be?" began one of the girls to her when they got into the drawing-room after dinner, the earl and Mr. Grubb being still at table. "Not in the smoky City, surely!"

      "His house is not in the City; it's in Russell Square," corrected another. "Of course he won't take her there!"

      "Ada, mind which opera-box you secure. Let it hold us all."

      "Of course you'll be smothered in diamonds," suggested Lady Mary.

      "One good thing will come of this wedding, if nothing else does: mamma must get us new things, and plenty of them."

      "I wonder whether he will give us any ornaments? He is generous to a fault. Is he not, Adela?"

      "How you tease!" was Adela's languid rejoinder. "Go and ask him."

      "I protest, Adela, if you show yourself so supremely indifferent he will declare off before the wedding-day."

      "And take one of you instead. I wish he would."

      "No fear. Ada's chains are bound fast about him. One may see how he loves her."

      "Love!" cried Adela. "It is perfectly absurd—from him to me. But it is the way with those plebeians."

      The preparations for the wedding were begun. On so magnificent a scale that the fashionable world of London was ringing with them. The bridegroom's liberality, in all that concerned his future wife, could not be surpassed. Settlements, houses, carriages, horses, furniture, ornaments, jewellery, all were perfect of their kind, leaving nothing to be wished for. The Lady Adela had once spoken of Aladdin's lamp, in reference to her sister Grace's ideal union; looking on these real preparations, one might imagine that some magic, equally powerful, was at work now.

      Lord Acorn had a place in Oxfordshire, and the family went to it in October. Mr. Grubb paid it one or two short visits, and went down for Christmas, staying there ten days. They were all cordial with him, except Adela; she continued to be supremely indifferent. He won upon their regard strangely; the girls could do nothing but sing his praises. Poor unselfish Grace once caught herself wishing that that early misapprehension had not been one, and then took herself to task severely. She loved Adela, and was glad for her sake.

      But Adela was not quite always cold and haughty. As if to show her affianced husband that such was not her true nature, she would now and again be sweetly winning and gentle. On one of these occasions he caught her hand. They were alone, sitting on a sofa; Frances had run into the next room for a book they were discussing.

      "Adela," he whispered passionately, taking both her hands in his, "but for these rare moments, I should be in despair."

      She did not, for a wonder, resent the words. She glanced up at him, a shy look in her sweet brown eyes, a smile on her parted lips, a deeper rose-blush on her delicate face. He stooped and kissed her; kissed her fervently.

      She resented that. For when Frances, coming back on the instant, entered, she met Adela sweeping from the room in a storm of anger.

      Not to let him kiss her! And in six weeks' time she was to be his wife!

      Mr. Grubb had an adventure on the journey home. They had passed Reading some minutes, when the train was stopped. A down-train had come to grief through the breaking of an axle, throwing a carriage, fortunately empty, right across the line; which in consequence was temporarily blocked up. The passengers of the down-train, very few of them, were standing about; the passengers of the up-train got out also.

      "Can I be of any use?—can I do anything for you?" asked Mr. Grubb, addressing a little lady in a black-silk cloak and close bonnet, who was sitting on a box and looking rather helpless. And, though he had heard of Miss Margery Upton, he was not aware that it was she to whom he was speaking.

      "It is good of you to inquire, sir; you are the first who has done it," she answered; "but I don't see that there's anything to be done. We might all have been killed. They should keep their material in safer order."

      She looked up as she spoke. Some drops of rain were beginning to fall. Mr. Grubb put up his umbrella, and held it over her. To do this, he laid down a small hand-bag of Russian leather, on the silver clasp of which was engraved "C. Grubb." Miss Upton read the name, rose