The Quiver, 2/ 1900. Various

on her niece. Yet she dared not quarrel with her aunt, who was her only hope for a good education for her child. May was resolved that Doris should be so accomplished that, if needful, she could earn her bread. "Oh, if only I had not been so idle at school! If I had practised, and talked to Fräulein more!" poor May thought to herself, with unavailing regret, as the country roads flitted by.

      But she had little leisure for these sad thoughts. She had to brace herself to play her part in three crowded drawing-rooms, as if she had not a care in the world. Miss Waller was well pleased with the admiration her graceful niece always excited in society; and, thanks to May, the spinster received many invitations which might not otherwise have arrived. Miss Waller had a horror of being classed as a frump; instead, she prided herself on being exceedingly modern and up-to-date.

      "Just fancy that plain little Daisy Edgell being engaged to a Liverpool man with heaps of money!" she remarked as they rolled homewards. "We met him at the Hubbards' last year, if you remember."

      "I thought him very ugly and commonplace."

      "Perhaps—but so rich! I wish you could be as lucky, May. What a pity there are so few really eligible men at Beachbourne!"

      "If there were ever so many, aunt, I couldn't bear to marry again."

      "And, pray, why not? You're only twenty-five; surely you are not going to mourn all your days for that precious husband of yours?" cried the spinster sharply.

      "It is just because my first marriage was so unhappy that I never wish to marry again. As to marrying for money—I couldn't do it!"

      "What nonsense! Isn't it done every day? It's all very fine to talk, May, but you know my income is only for my life, and I've hardly saved anything, so that when I die you'll be left without a home; and then what's to become of you and Doris? You must marry again—there's nothing else for it."

      It was not the first time May had listened to such counsels; and she was well aware that, should her aunt die prematurely, she herself would again be homeless. Miss Waller was not the woman to deny herself in order to save money for her niece. She must have the fine house and carriage, the handsome dress, and the dinner-parties which her soul loved; and she found May very useful in arranging flowers, writing letters, and making not a few articles of personal adornment for her aunt with her clever fingers.

      Their nearest way home lay through the quiet street in which Harold Inglis lived—or, rather, starved—and, as he chanced to be at the surgery window mixing a powder, he saw the carriage driving by. The sinking sun was burnishing May's golden-brown hair; and her profile, beneath her gauzy hat, looked very fair and sweet. He sighed, as he went back to his powder, for the contrast between her lot and his own seemed a little too glaring. He did not know that all the time she had only sixpence in her purse, while he could actually boast of half-a-crown!

CHAPTER II.

       Table of Contents

Two Heavy Hearts.

       Table of Contents

      Doris was never allowed to partake of meals with Miss Waller, who disliked having to regulate her conversation according to inquisitive childish ears. The little girl lived in the upper regions with Mary, who divided the duties of lady's maid and nurse. After breakfast one morning, May, having done what was required by Miss Waller, went upstairs to give Doris the lessons which, so far, formed her sole instruction. She found the child flushed and heated after a combat with Mary.

      "She's that cross, I can't do anything with her," grumbled the maid, who dutifully imitated her mistress in hating children. "She wouldn't eat her nice egg at breakfast, and she's pulled all her dolly's hair off—see."

      "I'm afraid she's not well," said the mother gravely, as the child buried her face in May's skirt, sobbing fretfully. Her little hands were burning, her cheeks flushed, and red spots showed on the peach-like skin. "Ask Miss Waller if Jane may go for the doctor," May continued, dreading lest she had taken measles.

      Miss Waller gave permission to summon the family physician, Dr. Ellis, who was the most fashionable practitioner in Beachbourne, and drove his carriage and pair; but Jane returned to say that both the doctor and his partner were out.

      "Then go and fetch the nearest doctor at once!" commanded Miss Waller. "I must know whether it's infectious or not, so that I may take precautions. How vexing it will be," she complained to her niece, "if Doris is laid up for weeks, and the house placed in quarantine, just as all the gaieties are beginning! There's the Mowbrays' dinner next week, and Lady Lee's picnic, and the Clares' musical party—oh, dear!"

      Not a word of sympathy for the poor child! May clenched her hands passionately in her struggle to restrain an angry reply. It was in moments like this that her shackles seemed absolutely intolerable.

      Presently Jane returned, followed by Harold Inglis, the first disengaged doctor she could find. May was glad not to behold an absolute stranger, and stood by anxiously until he had examined the little patient, whose malady he pronounced to be chicken-pox. He wrote a prescription, gave a few simple directions, and then followed May downstairs to reassure Miss Waller, who was eager "to know the worst," as she put it.

      She was very gracious at being relieved from anxiety, and remarked blandly, "It was very kind of you to come so promptly, Dr. Inglis. Our usual medical attendant is Dr. Ellis, but he was out. As it's such a trifling matter, don't trouble to see Doris again. If you will be good enough to send in your account for this visit, I will settle it at once."

      And she bowed him out, as if determined to quench any hope he might entertain of being privileged to attend in Victoria Square. Although, of course, medical etiquette forbade his interfering with Dr. Ellis's patients, he felt somewhat disappointed as he went away. He was so weary of waiting in his dingy sitting-room for the patients who never came!

      May ventured a word to her aunt when they were alone. "I wish we could help Dr. Inglis to find a few patients, aunt! He seems so nice and kind."

      "There are far too many doctors in Beachbourne!" pronounced the spinster. "I shall certainly not leave Dr. Ellis—he gives such delightful dinner-parties!"

      Harold plodded dejectedly home, to learn, as usual, that nobody had called during his absence; and, after thriftily changing his coat, he entered his little surgery, to find a packet on the table which had come by post. It was the manuscript of an article on throat affections, which he had sent to a medical paper in the hope of earning a little money. It had entailed great labour and research, only to be rejected with the curt intimation that the editor had no opening for such a subject.

      "What can I do?" he distractedly asked himself. "I've called on everybody I can scrape acquaintance with; I've joined the local clubs; I'm a Volunteer and a Freemason—what more can I do to bring myself into notice?"

      "A note for you, sir," said the maid-of-all-work, appearing at the door.

      He snatched it eagerly, hoping to find a summons; but, alas! it was only a bill from a jobbing-tailor whom he had employed to renovate various garments sub rosa. He had no money to pay it; although it went sorely against the grain to keep the poor man from his due. He paced in distress up and down the narrow room, wishing he dare start out for a long walk, to distract his thoughts. But he dreaded to leave, lest in his absence some desirable patient might send for him. And so, hanging about listlessly, unable to settle to anything, the dismal morning passed, like too many others; and Ann brought in his meal of bread and cheese, from which he rose nearly as hungry as he sat down. He looked at himself in the spotty pier-glass. His cheeks were falling in, and there were hollows beneath his eyes, due entirely to insufficient nourishment.

      A card stuck in the frame reminded him that Mrs. Ormsby-Paulet was "at home" that afternoon. "It's a tennis party—shall I go?" he debated. It seemed a mockery to mingle