Hector stared at her, his handsome face blank with astonishment. Given a hundred guineas, he would never have thought of such an explanation, and coming from a home where the advent of a dozen unexpected visitors would have made no confusion, he found it difficult to realise the seriousness of the occasion. There was no doubting Peggy's distress, however, and that was the important point. Whether she was imagining her trouble or not, he must come to her aid, and that as quickly as possible. He stretched out his arms, set her lightly on the ground, and put his own foot on the ladder.

"I will stay and help you," he said firmly; "that will be better than going away! You don't expect me to walk off and leave you to risk your little neck climbing up ladders to provide food for me, do you? Not quite, Peggy, I think! Tell me what to do, and I'll do it. You want me to get into the room up there?"

Peggy looked at him doubtfully. The window was small, and Hector was big; she was afraid he would find it no easy task, but his ready offer relieved and touched her more than she could express, for he had such an acute sense of his own dignity that it meant much for him to perform such a feat.

"You really mean it? It is good of you! You don't mind doing it to help me?"

"I'd do a great deal more than that to please you, Peggy, if you would give me the chance!"

This was dreadful. He was growing sentimental, gazing at her with an expression which filled her with embarrassment, and speaking in a tone which implied even more than the words. She could not snub him in the face of an offered service; the only hope was to be brisk and matter-of- fact.

"Up with you, then!" she cried, stepping back, and waving her hand with imperious gesture. "Time is precious, and I am already far too late. I'll watch here until you have got through the window. You will find a key hanging on a nail. Open the door with it, and you will find me panting on the threshold!"

No sooner said than done. Hector attempted no more sentimentalities, but mounted the ladder and squeezed his heavy form through the store- room window. It was no easy feat, and Peggy had one or two bad moments as she watched him trembling on the brink. When one foot had already disappeared he seemed for a moment to overbalance, and righted himself only by a vigorous effort, but finally he reached the room, and Peggy ran to meet him, aglow with relief. The key turned in the lock as she approached, and she rushed forward to select her stores with hardly a glance in Hector's direction, though with many eager expressions of thanks.

"You are good! I am relieved! You deserve the Victoria Cross at least. I was quite agitated watching you, but you managed splendidly- splendidly. Did you get horribly dusty squeezing through?"

"I think I did, rather. I will go to your father's room and have a brush. I'll see you at lunch."

"Yes, yes!" Peggy flew past, her arms full of the tins and bottles for which cook was waiting, leaving the things which were not immediately needed to be selected on a second visit. When she returned, five minutes later, Hector had disappeared, and she had leisure to look around, and feel a pang of shame at the general disorder. A room with more elaborate preparation for order, and less success in attaining it, it would have been difficult to discover. Shelves and cupboards were profusely labelled, and every nook or corner had been dedicated to some special use, but, alas! practice had fallen short of precept, and the labels now served no other purpose than that of confusion, since they had no longer any bearing on their position. Odd morsels of string and paper were littered over the floor, and empty cases, instead of being stored away, were thrown together in an unsightly heap beneath the window. A broken case showed where Hector's foot had descended, and the boards lay kicked aside, the nails sticking out of their jagged edges.

"Misery me! and himself a soldier too, with eyes staring out of every side of him!" sighed Peggy, with a doleful imitation of Mrs Asplin's Irish accent. "If this isn't a lesson to you, Mariquita Saville, there's no hope left! It's most perturbing to have one's secret faults exhibited to the public gaze. It will be quite an age before I dare put on airs to Hector, after this!"

She made a mental vow to set the room in order first thing next day, but at present could think of nothing but lunch; and when her own preparations were completed she rejoined the little party in the garden, and beguiled her father into talking of his past adventures, to prevent the time from hanging too heavily on his hands.

Hector did not appear until at last the gong sounded, and when he did, the first glance at him evoked a chorus of exclamations. His face was white and drawn, and he dragged one foot after him in halting fashion. In spite of his air of indifference, it was evident that he was in considerable pain, and as soon as he saw that deception could not be kept up, he sank down in a chair, as if thankful to give up the strain.

"Turned my foot a little, that's all! Afraid the ankle has gone wrong!"

"Turned your foot! When did you do that? Must have given it a wrench getting over some of those stiles to-day, I suppose; but you did not speak of it at the time. You felt nothing walking home?"

"No!"

"It has just begun to trouble you now? Pretty badly too, I'm afraid, for you look pale, old fellow. Come, we must have off that boot, and get the leg up on a sofa! It won't do to let it hang down like that. I'll take you upstairs and doctor it properly, for if there is one thing I do flatter myself I understand, it is how to treat a sprained ankle. Will you come now, or wait until after lunch?"

"Oh, have your lunch first, please! It will be time enough when you have finished. It would be too bad to take you away now, when Peggy has had so much trouble to prepare a meal for us!"

Hector smiled at the girl in encouraging fashion, but there was no answering smile upon Peggy's face. She stood up stiff and straight, her brows puckered in lines of distress. Hector's evasive answers had not deceived her, for she knew too well that the accident had happened after, not before, he had reached Yew Hedge. In some fashion he had strained his foot in mounting the ladder, and he was now trying to screen her from the result of her carelessness. To allow such a thing as that, however, was not Peggy Saville's way. Her eyes gleamed, and her voice rang out clear and distinct.

"I am afraid it is I who am to blame. I am afraid you hurt yourself climbing into the store-room for me. You were quite well when you came in, so that must have been how it happened. You stepped on a box in getting through, and it gave way beneath you, and turned your ankle. That was it, wasn't it?"

"I—I'm afraid it was. It was stupid of me not to look where I was going. I thought at the time that it was only a wrench, but it seems to be growing worse."

"Box! Store-room! Climbing! What on earth are you talking about?" echoed Colonel Saville, looking in bewilderment from one speaker to another. "You two have been up to some mischief together since we arrived. What was it? I don't understand."

"Oh, nothing at all! Peggy wanted to get into the store-room without wasting time looking for a key that was mislaid, and I ran up a ladder and got in by the window. That was all; but unfortunately I put down my foot trusting to alight on the floor, leant all my weight on an empty box, and—this is the consequence!"

It was an extraordinary statement, despite the matter-of-course manner in which the words were uttered. It is not usual in well-conducted households for gentlemen visitors to scramble through windows on the second storey, or for the daughter of the house to utilise such services to remedy the effect of her own carelessness. The parents of ordinary children would have been breathless with horror at listening to such a recital, but it must be remembered that Arthur and Peggy Saville had never been ordinary in their habits. From earliest youth they had scorned the obvious ways of locomotion, had chosen to descend the staircase on a toboggan improvised out of a kitchen tea-tray rather than to walk from step to step like rational beings, and to ascend on the outside rather than the inside of the banisters, so that their belongings had grown to expect the unexpected, and Major Darcy's explanation caused less consternation than might have been expected.

Mrs Saville sighed, and her husband uttered an exclamation of impatience, but both were much more concerned about the condition of the invalid than the cause of his accident, for it was evident that with every moment the pain in the foot grew more severe.

"A pretty bad consequence, it seems to me!" quoth the colonel grimly. "I'll tell you what it is, my dear fellow; you had better come into the library with me at once, and let me take you in hand. The others can get on with their lunch while Mary brings me what I want. I'll make you comfortable in ten minutes, and then we'll send over a cart to The Larches and get a bag packed, and keep you here for a day or two until you can get about again. Least thing we can do to nurse you round, when you have hurt yourself in our service."

Hector protested, but in no very vigorous fashion. Truth to tell, the prospect of being housed at Yew Hedge, with the colonel as companion and Peggy as nurse, was much more congenial than the thought of returning to the big, desolate house where Rob reigned in solitary state and the sitting-rooms were shrouded in holland wrappings. He allowed himself to be persuaded, submitted to the sponging and binding which ensued with a docility which advanced him far in the host's good graces, and ate his luncheon on the sofa in approved invalid fashion.

It was not until late in the afternoon that Peggy had a chance of interviewing Hector alone, and of expressing her thanks for the double service which he had rendered, but when Mrs Saville retired for her usual rest, and the colonel accompanied the other guest down the drive, her opportunity came. She was sitting by the tea-table, which had been placed close to the sofa for the convenience of the invalid, and Hector was leaning against his cushions watching her little hands flying in and out of her work. Peggy always made a great affectation of being busy, and had at least half-a-dozen pieces of fancy work hidden away in as many drawers, waiting completion at that indefinite period when she should remember their existence. She glanced at him now, and tried to speak, threaded a new length of silk, and stitched more assiduously than ever, glanced again, began a sentence, broke off in confusion, and to her inward rage felt her cheeks flaming with colour.

Why did he stare so fixedly? Why did he look so queer? It was most embarrassing, most annoying. She would have liked to show her displeasure, but how could she, when he was suffering through her folly, and had been so chivalrous in shielding her from blame?

"I—I want to say all sorts of things," she stammered uncomfortably, "and I can't think of one! I'm sorry, I'm ashamed, I'm grateful, I feel a miserable culprit. I don't know what you must think of me and my miserable carelessness. I wish you would be cross, and say every horrid thing you could think of. It would help me more than anything else!"

But Hector only laughed, a cheerful, complacent laugh.

"I don't feel the least inclined to be cross. I have had no pain since your father doctored me, and I am remarkably comfortable sitting on this sofa. I look upon the little contretemps as a blessing in disguise, since it has gained me some days at Yew Hedge. Don't be sorry any more, Peggy, but be as grateful as you please, and show your gratitude by giving me as much of your society as you can spare from your many interests. My time is growing short now, and I have seen so little of you lately."

"You have been so busy going about among your grand friends that you have had no time to spare for the country. Oh yes, indeed, I'll do all I can to cheer your solitude. You shall read aloud to me while I sew, and add up my accounts while I do my housekeeping, and—"

"Seems to me that is rather the wrong way about, isn't it? I thought you were to amuse me, whereas it seems—"

"Reciprocity! Reciprocity!" murmured Peggy, shaking her head at him solemnly, and cocking her little finger in the air, as she drew her thread to its full length. "Reciprocity is the basis of all true friendship! Mutual service, cheerfully rendered, cements and establishes amicable relationships. If I were to leave you idle, and pander to your fancies, it would have a most deleterious effect on your character. I must endeavour to show my gratitude by doing you good, not harm."

Hector laid back his head, and chuckled in delighted amusement.

"Bravo, Peggy! Most excellent sentiments! When all trades fail, you might turn your attention to composing copy-book headings! It's a field in which you would certainly make a reputation. You have the most remarkable flow of moral precepts."

"I have!" assented Peggy readily. "It's astonishing. I wish my behaviour bore more resemblance to my conversation, but indeed the two have never seemed to have any influence on each other. I've sometimes thought I should like to keep a girls' school, for I could lecture the pupils so beautifully against all the faults I myself have committed."

"You will have something better to do than keep a school, Peggy. We can't spare you for that!" said Hector tenderly. He thought he had never seen anything prettier than the sparkling, mischievous little face, or listened to conversation more charming than the quaint, sententious phrases. What a delight to be with Peggy Saville again after those weeks of fashionable visiting! What a contrast she was to the society belles, who made the same remarks, laughed the same laugh, smiled the same forced artificial smiles! They had bored him to distraction, but there was no feeling bored in Peggy's society; she was always interesting, always bright, always charming. He felt no more doubts as to his own feeling, for absence had made him only the more appreciative of Peggy's charms. He loved her, he could not endure to part from her, she must be his wife! He looked at her with a kindling eye; but Peggy was folding up her work, and did not notice the danger signal.

"Ah, well," she said, laughing, "judging from recent experiences that's just as well, for if I forgot to provide food for the poor dears, and then set them on break-ankle expeditions to rescue my belongings, the school might not succeed so well as could be desired. I'm off now to write some letters which must go by the early post; but before I go I must just say again how grateful I am for your help to-day, and still more for the way in which you tried to shield me from blame. You were very, very good, and I'll not forget it!"

She held out her hand with a frank gesture of gratitude, and Hector took it and held it firmly in his own.

"I'd do more than that to please you, Peggy," he said once more. "A great deal more than that!" He looked her full in the face with his big grey eyes as he spoke, and brought his other hand down to press hers more closely, while Peggy sat with crimson cheeks and downcast eyes, conscious that she was behaving like any foolish school-girl, yet miserably incapable of doing otherwise. Then suddenly her hand was dropped, Hector sat upright with an elaborate affection of indifference, and a voice spoke from the further end of the room.

"I beg your pardon. I did not mean to interrupt. I came over with your bag. I heard you had had an accident."

"My dear fellow, come in, come in! It is nothing at all. I have merely given my ankle a turn. Come in, and we will tell you all about it."

Rob came forward slowly, and Peggy heard as in a dream the murmur of the two voices, questioning, replying, making arrangements for the future, but for her own part she could not stir nor lift her eyes from the floor. She sat in an agony, seeing as in a mirror the scene which had greeted Rob as he entered the room—Hector's eager glance, her own embarrassment, his hand and hers clasped tightly together.

What would Rob think? What could he think? If he judged by appearances, there could be but one solution, and that was that she was deliberately encouraging Hector's attentions!

Peggy felt sure that he would be furiously angry, but Rob's voice had no sound of anger in it as he talked to his brother. It was even quieter than usual, with only a slight tone of formality, to show that anything unusual had occurred. She summoned up courage to glance across the room, and met the dark eyes fixed full upon her. Rob had beautiful eyes, and they had never looked more beautiful than at this moment as he smiled back with tender, reassuring glance. But Peggy's heart died down within her, for, oh, if Rob were not angry, things were far, far worse than she had imagined!



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

Rob stayed behind after Peggy left the room, and had a long talk with his brother. He refused to stay to dinner, it is true, but showed no signs of ill-temper, and was more gentle than usual in his manner with Hector, towards whom he usually adopted an air of superiority. He came over the following day to inquire about the progress of the sprained ankle, and seemed so anxious to soothe Peggy's embarrassment, so laboriously pleasant and affectionate, that he succeeded in plunging her into confusion worse confounded. If only he would scold, storm, rage, express disgust, or demand apology, how easy it would be to wipe away the misunderstanding! but it was impossible to offer an explanation of what was never questioned. The very thought of referring to the subject of her own accord made Peggy's cheeks burn. The most she could do was to give Rob an opportunity of speaking, which she did without delay, walking with him to the gate, and keeping purposely silent the while; but it was of no use, for he seemed resolved to avoid personal subjects, would not mention Hector's name, and discoursed on vegetable life to an audience inclined to wish that such a thing as plant or flower had never existed!

Why was not he angry? Peggy asked herself drearily, as she returned to the house. Another girl might have realised that Rob had not the right to be angry, seeing that she was in no wise pledged to himself; but at heart Peggy considered herself pledged, and felt sore and wounded that Rob did not realise her position.

Care for another man while Rob was near? Impossible! Share her life with another, and leave Rob lonely and uncared for? The very thought sent a pang to her heart. Rob and she had held together since they were children, they had always belonged to each other; he should have realised as much, and not have insulted her by believing for a moment that she could be false to her trust. Peggy's little head tilted back to a defiant angle, and her lips closed in determined line. Very well, then; if Rob were not angry, she was! If he chose to take things for granted, he could do as he pleased. Let him go on being magnanimous and complacent. Two could play at that game. Never should it be said that Peggy Saville ran after a man who seemed pleased at the prospect of getting rid of her. And then, as the drive took a turn which brought it in sight of the road, Miss Peggy waved her hand towards the library window, and quickened her pace into a run. There was nobody in the window, it is true, but then there might have been, and if people chose to build up theories of their own, it was really a kindness to provide them with materials!

So far as Hector himself was concerned, the episode of Rob's unexpected appearance put an effectual stop to those tete-a-tetes which he had anticipated. Peggy was as slippery as an eel, and as his ankle kept him confined to one room, he was obliged to put up with her caprices, and resign himself to solitude during those hours when host and hostess were engaged. She would talk to him, read to him, play games with him, amuse him by a dozen quaint representations and monologues, providing always that a third person was in the room, but directly they were left alone together, sudden business summoned her to another part of the house, and she whisked away before he had time to protest. He longed for his ankle to be well enough to allow pursuit; but when that time came Arthur and Eunice were due, and he must needs return to The Larches to make way for their arrival. It was disappointing, but he reminded himself that he had at least made one step in advance. Peggy knew what he wished; she would have time to get accustomed to the idea, and within the next month he would certainly find his opportunity.

To Peggy, jarred and wounded with the strain of acting a double part, what a relief it was to see Arthur's beloved face again, and to discover at the first glimpse that Rosalind's engagement had had no power to shadow the radiance of his smile. Whatever he had suffered he had borne in secret, as his manner was, keeping a brave front to the world, and seeming to lift the burden of others by the very magnetism of his cheery presence. Peggy had driven to the station in the lowest possible stage of dejection, but she felt life worth living again, as Arthur pinched her arm in acknowledgment of a new coat, gave a dexterous little jerk to her elbow, which sent her parasol flying along the platform, and murmured plaintively:

"Still scattering possessions broadcast! How do you think I can afford to buy you fineries, if you throw them about in that slipshod fashion?"

"You may pick it up yourself—I won't!" cried Peggy haughtily; but before Arthur had a chance of disputing the point, Eunice had stepped into the breach, and was presenting at once the parasol and her own smiling face for Peggy's greeting. The shy glance of the grey eyes affected Peggy with all the old pleasure, for they were so eloquent of their owner's enjoyment, so charmingly diffident as to the feelings of others.

"You dear little Eunice, how are you again? Welcome to Yew Hedge. Such a pleasah to see you!" cried Peggy, falling into quite a society drawl in her amiable condescension, and smiling at her friend with a graciousness unaffected by the fact that her own head came barely up to Eunice's ear. It was delightful to have a girl visitor! The worst of Arthur's visits was that he was always running away on some unsociable masculine pursuit, fishing, shooting, and the like, instead of staying at home like a sensible fellow and amusing his sister. But Eunice would be different, for she was the most womanly of womanly women. No shooting-boots for her, no divided skirts, nor hard felt hats! She was a remnant of that good old type of which our mothers and grand mothers were made, timid and nervous in everyday affairs, yet with an unexpected store of courage which showed itself when danger menaced the welfare of those she loved. Peggy felt that she had much to learn from this sweet new friend, and fulfilled her intention of consulting her on household topics on the first possible occasion. She gave a dramatic recital of her misadventures, and once more Eunice proved herself a delightful hearer, for she sighed and groaned at exactly the right points, kept her eyes fixed attentively on the speaker's face, and while confessing the utmost horror at the contretemps described, was convinced that she herself would have fared even worse.

"For by your own account, Peggy, you managed extremely well when you did remember. Even cook praised you! Now, I should not forget, because I happen to have a good memory, but I should provide hopelessly badly from first to last. I should have no idea what to order, or how to choose, or make a variety. I have never had anything of the sort to do, you see. We have a housekeeper who looks after all such things, and I am in utter ignorance about them!"

Here was a delightful confession! When you have abased yourself before a friend, have confessed your own shortcomings, and braced yourself to bear reproaches, what can be more delightful than to hear that her own ignorance is greater than yours? Peggy was overjoyed to find herself restored to a position of superiority, and as usual made the most of the opportunity.

"My love," she croaked, "my love!" and up went both hands in elderly gestures. "But what a lamentable confession! The sphere of a true woman is Home, and it should be her first duty to master those arts which are necessary for its comfort. What hired hands can ever minister to our dear ones so deftly, so efficiently, as those which love has trained and dutiful affection called to service?"

Eunice gasped and blinked her eyes, overwhelmed by the flood of Peggy's eloquence, but when she had abstracted the meaning from the high-flown phrase, her expression altered into one of dubious protest.

"I am not so sure! I am afraid a dinner cooked by my loving hands would not please father nearly so well as the ones he gets from his hired domestics. I don't think it can always follow—"

But Peggy was launched on the flood of eloquence, and could not be thus lightly checked.

"You must learn!" she cried. "You must educate yourself until you are so efficient that you could fill every domestic position. Even if you never do the work yourself, you cannot be a good mistress unless you understand enough of each maid's work to give instructions, and point out the remedy for defects. A man, my dear, expects to come home to a comfortable meal, and it is right that he should get it! We women are above such considerations, but trifling discomforts are more trying to a man's temper than more serious offences, and they are apt to become impatient and irritable."

"They are! They are! You should just hear father when—" interrupted Eunice eagerly, but Peggy silenced her with a wave of the hand. When she herself had smarted beneath her mother's words of reproach, she had never imagined that she could have the satisfaction of hurling those same words at the head of another, and she was enjoying herself so intensely that she was anxious to prolong the experience.

"Exactly so; and it should be our mission in life to prevent such friction. There are girls in the present day who sneer at Home Life, and profess to consider domestic duties as a slavery demeaning to a woman's dignity, but for my own part I ask no higher sphere. To be Queen of a Home, Guardian of its happiness, its Architect, Ruler, and Controller, the Reins of Government grasped within my hands, what more could I desire?" She gave a toss to her sleek little head, then wheeled round at the sound of a stifled chuckle, met the grey eyes swimming in tears, and demanded sternly, "You seem amused! May I ask at what you are laughing?"

"He—he—he!" sniggered Eunice softly. "You—you looked so fierce, and you gave such a tug to the reins! I couldn't help thinking what a hard driver you would be! You say it is impossible to be a good mistress unless you are first a good servant, but you don't seem to be very expert yourself, and yet you can order people about better than any one I know. I noticed that from the first. People always seem to do what you want. How do you reconcile that with your argument?" She smiled as she spoke, not without a spice of triumph at having cornered the redoubtable Peggy; but she had yet to learn the extraordinary manner in which that young woman could twist and turn, arguing first in one direction and then in the other, as suited the convenience of the moment. On the present occasion she beamed acknowledgment of the compliment, and cried airily:

"Some are born to command, and some to serve! It would be idle to deny that I belong to the former species. If I cannot do the work myself, I can at least help others to do it, and point out their faults in a convincing manner. I should like to have a large household of servants, and make them pass before me in turns, while I sat in an easy-chair and issued orders, and I should consider that my share of the labour exceeded theirs, for brain toil is more exhausting than manual. It takes a great deal of study to manage a household, and as a rule girls in our position give no thought to the matter. They are engrossed with the pleasures of society, but a butterfly life would never satisfy me. My leanings are Domestic. I have an ever-growing desire to become Domestic!"

"Oh, so have I!" cried Eunice eagerly. "So have I! Let us be domestic together, Peggy, do! Let us begin now, while I am here. It would be so much nicer than trying alone. Do—do let us begin at once!"

She was quite excited. The grey eyes were shining, and there was a pretty pink flush on the pale cheeks. Peggy smiled at her, and patted her knee, with the kindly amusement with which one receives the petitions of an eager child.

"Well," she said graciously, "suppose we do! It would be quite amusing. I am willing, dear, if you will suggest in what way you would like to begin."

"We might ask your cook to give us lessons in cooking!"

"No, my dear, we might not. I couldn't consent to it. Most injudicious to display your ignorance before a person whom you have to command. You must think of something else."

"We might go marketing, and learn what everything costs, and how much one ought to buy, and—"

"No use, my dear! We get nothing but meat and fish from the village. Fruit and vegetables come from the garden, and all the groceries from town."

"We might sew."

"Ha! I have it!" cried Peggy dramatically. "We'll dress-make! What a joke! We'll each make a blouse, and wear them at dinner one evening. It will be delightful. Every girl ought to be able to make her own clothes, and it's so simple, so easy."

"Is it?" Eunice arched her brows in surprise. "Have you ever tried?"

"Not exactly, but they were always doing it at the vicarage, and I used to help. I always drew the designs, and criticised the things when they were done. It's quite easy. You get a pattern, pin it to the stuff, cut it out, run it up, and there you are."

"And you really think I could manage?"

"Of course you could. We will work together, and I'll help you. That's to say, if you would like to try."

"Oh, I should indeed. Fancy wearing something I had made myself! I'd be so proud. I'll have mine very, very simple, as plain as possible."

"I sha'n't! Mine shall be elaborate and fussy and mysterious—one of those things in which you cannot see any fastenings, or imagine how on earth the owner gets in or out. There's a model in this week's Queen which will be just the thing, and I have a piece of flowered pink silk upstairs which will do for you as well as for me. It is a remnant which I bought in Paris. I have a mania for remnants. I always think they will come in usefully, but somehow they don't. This will be the exception, however, and it will be nice to be alike!"

"Thank you so much; but you won't tell any one what we are going to do, will you? We had better not say anything yet, in case we don't succeed."

"Don't succeed, indeed! Don't let me hear such words, my dear, I beg! To imagine failure is to invite defeat!" Peggy shook her head with her most copy-book air. "We shall succeed, and therefore it would be selfish to keep our plans to ourselves. It will be quite an excitement in prospect. Let me see: to-day is Tuesday. How would it be if we said Saturday night?"

"Too soon! Too soon! I should say a week at the very soonest. We can't manage in less."

"Oh yes, we can if we try. We will give up our mornings to work, and the afternoons to pleasure. There is very little making in a blouse— three seams, and the sleeves, that's all! Four days are quite enough; besides, it is really five, for we will begin this morning."

"Now? At once? But I haven't thought, I haven't planned, nothing is ready! Surely it would be wise to wait, and think it over first?"

But impetuous Peggy could not be brought to acknowledge that procrastination could ever be wise. If she had had her way, she would have been hard at work hacking out her blouse within ten minutes of its first suggestion; but fortunately for all concerned Arthur appeared upon the scene at this minute, and put down his foot at the mention of sewing.

"Not if I know it, on a beautiful summer afternoon! Leave that until it rains, or I don't need your society. Now I do. I want you to come over to the vicarage with me, while I pay my congratulations to the bride. I've got an offering for her too. Something I brought from town, and I want you to carry it for me."

"So likely, isn't it?" sniffed Peggy scornfully. "It shall never be said of me that I trained my brother so badly that I carried even an umbrella in his company! What is it, Arthur? Do tell us? What have you got?"

But Arthur refused to tell. He slung the box on the crook of his stick, and led the way across the fields, smiling enigmatically at the girls' inquiries, but vouchsafing no clue to satisfy their curiosity. There was evidently some mystery afoot, and the expectation of its unravelment gave a spice of excitement to the coming visit. The box contained something nice; Peggy felt sure of that, for when Arthur gave a present he gave something worth having. How pleased Esther would be, and how embarrassed! What fun it would be to witness the presentation, and help out her acknowledgments by appropriate cheers and interjections!



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

When the vicarage was reached a reconnoitre round the garden discovered the murmur of voices in the schoolroom, and marshalled by Arthur the three visitors crept silently forward until they were close upon the window, when Eunice hung modestly in the rear, while her companions flattened their faces against the panes. A shriek of dismay sounded from within, as Mellicent dropped a work-basket on the floor and buried her face in her hands, under the conviction that the house was besieged by wild Indians, and the advance party close upon her. A smaller shriek echoed from the further end of the room where Esther stood, being pinned up in a calico lining by the hands of the local dressmaker, and the smallest shriek of all came from the region of the sewing-machine, where Mrs Asplin let the treadle work up and down by itself, and clasped her heart instead of the seam. Esther fled precipitately behind a screen, Mellicent flopped on a chair, and Mrs Asplin cried loudly:

"Go away, go away. Come in, dear boy! Is it really you? What in the world do you mean by startling us like this?"

"I've told you before, Arthur Saville, that it drives me crazy when people come suddenly glaring in through the window! You'll kill me some, day, or turn me into a jibbering idiot, and then you'll be sorry! Front doors are made to come in by, 'specially—especially when visitors are with you!" cried Mellicent severely, and at this Mrs Asplin turned towards Eunice with her sunny, welcoming smile.

"You are Miss Rollo, aren't you, dear? This bad boy had no business to bring you in here, but I've heard of you so often from Mellicent that you don't seem like a stranger. We are hard at work preparing for the wedding, so you must excuse the muddle. We are delighted to see you!"

"Oh, Eunice won't mind. She has heard so much about you too, mater, that she would have been quite disappointed to have found you sitting in the drawing-room like any ordinary, commonplace person. Sorry I startled you! I wouldn't make you jibber for the world, Chubby, so I'll knock next time, to let you know I'm coming. But where's the bride? Where's the bride? Is she coming out from behind that screen, or have I to go and fetch her?"

At that Esther came forth quickly enough, a blue jacket fastened over the calico lining, and her cheeks aglow with blushes, for here was a double embarrassment—to face Arthur's banter for the first time since her engagement, and to be introduced to the great Miss Rollo in a dressing-jacket! "The great Miss Rollo," however, turned out to be a simple-looking girl, who looked much more afraid of her companions than her companions were of her, while when she came face to face with Arthur he seemed suddenly sobered, and uttered his congratulations in quite a quiet, earnest voice. Was this Esther? he was asking himself—this rosy, smiling girl the sober, long-visaged Esther who had seemed so far removed from youthful romance? Love was indeed a mighty force, if it could bring about such a change as this—the right sort of love—that is to say, unselfish, ennobling, a love which has no thought for itself, but lives in the happiness of another. As Arthur looked at his old friend, and noted the softening of eye and lip, the new sweetness of expression, there rose before his imagination another face, which for many years had seemed to him the most beautiful in the world, but which now appeared suddenly hard and loveless. He never realised the fact for himself, but it was really in this moment of meeting with Esther in the flush of her happiness that the last link was snapped in the chain which had bound him to Rosalind Darcy.

The dream seemed to him to have lasted quite a long time, but in reality the pause was but of a moment's duration, and had been abundantly filled by Mellicent, who having spied Arthur's parcel was consumed with curiosity to discover its contents.

"What's in the box?" she cried with the directness for which she was celebrated, and Arthur picked up his parcel, and balanced it in his hands with a roguish glance in the bride's direction.

"Something for Esther, for the bottom drawer."

"The bottom drawer! What are you talking about?"

"Every engaged young woman has a bottom drawer! It's part of the performance, and you can't be properly engaged without it. It's the bottom drawer of the wardrobe generally, and all sorts of things live in it—everything and anything that she can lay hands on, to put aside for the new house. Fancy work, pictures, pottery, Christmas presents, and bazaar gleanings—in they go, and when she has friends to tea they sit in rows on the floor, and she undoes the wrapping, and they groan with envy, and cry, 'How sweet! How perfectly sweet! Won't it look sweet in the drawing-room!'"

"You seem to know a great deal about it!"

"I do! I've heard about it scores of times, and of course I knew that Esther would have a bottom drawer like the rest."

"You were mistaken then! Esther has nothing of the sort. I am to be engaged such a short time, Arthur, that I have had no leisure to think of such things. In any case, I don't think it is much in my line."

"Well, you needn't be so superior! If you haven't got a bottom drawer, you have the next thing to it. Who went over the house the very day she came home, grabbing all the things that belonged to her, and taking them up to her room?" cried Mellicent the irrepressible. "Who took the little blue jug off my mantelpiece? Who took the brass candlestick from the hall? Who took the pictures from the schoolroom? Who took the toilet-cover that she said I might have, and left me with nothing but two horrid mats? You did, you know you did, and it is not a bit of use giving yourself airs!"

Evidently not. Esther hung her head, and admitted the impeachment. Well, she had thought that it would be nice to have her own things—it did seem wise to collect them at once, before she grew too busy! It was very, very kind of Arthur, and she was truly grateful. Should she open the parcel now?

"Of course you must! Your first present! It is quite an event, and just what I should have expected, that it should come from Arthur. Dear lad, always so thoughtful!" murmured Mrs Asplin fondly. "Open it on the table, and we will sit round and watch. Come, Miss Rollo, sit by me. Perhaps you are in the secret already, and know what it is?"

"No, we don't know. We inquired, but he wouldn't tell us anything about it."

"But it's probably salt-cellars! Men have so little imagination. They always take refuge in salt-cellars!"

This from Peggy, while Esther looked polite and murmured:

"Most useful, I'm sure. Nothing more so!" and Mellicent grimaced vigorously.

"Uninteresting, I call it! Now joolery is far nicer. I wish it were joolery, but I'm afraid it's too big. Open it, do! Cut the string, and don't fumble all day at one knot! The professor will buy you some more, if you ask him nicely."

"Mellicent!" cried Esther deeply; but she cut the string as desired, laid back the wrappings, and took up a small tissue paper parcel.

"Just a small trifle. Something useful for the bottom drawer!" murmured Arthur modestly, and the next moment the parcel fell on the table with a crash, while every one shrieked in chorus. Something had gone off with a bang, something fell out of its wrappings and clattered wood against wood. A mouse-trap! A little, penny mouse-trap of plainest, commonest description! They could hardly believe their eyes—could do nothing but exclaim, gasp, and upbraid at one and the same moment.

"You said it was a wedding present!"

"I never did. It was you who said that. I said 'something useful for the bottom drawer.' I hope, dear Esther, that you may find it very, very useful."

"You mean creature! I hope it may be nothing of the kind; I might have known it was a trick. Now, what is in the other parcels? because if there are any more Jack-in-the-box springs, I prefer not to open them. One shock of that kind is quite enough."

But Arthur vowed that not another spring was to be found, and, thus reassured, Esther opened in turns a spice-box, a nutmeg-grater, a box of matches, a flour dredger, and a bundle of clothes-pegs.

Each object was greeted with a fresh peal of laughter from the onlookers, who, having recovered from the first disappointment, thoroughly enjoyed the joke played upon the sober Esther, while Esther herself tried hard to be superior and scathing, and Peggy's bright eyes roamed round in search of a final development.

It was not like Arthur, she told herself, to disappoint a friend even in fun, and she felt convinced that the joke would not end as it had begun. One by one she picked up the scattered articles and examined them gingerly. The mouse-trap was guiltless of bait, the spice-box empty as when it left the shop, but the matchbox felt strangely heavy. She shook it, and felt something tilt forward, peeped inside, and spied a small morocco box.

"Joolery! Joolery!" shrieked Mellicent loudly. "It is—I said it was! Oh, the darling—sweety—pet! I wish—I wish I were going to be married!"

It was the daintiest little diamond brooch that was ever seen. A gold bar with a cluster of stones in the centre; handsome, yet unobtrusive; brilliant, yet modest; the very thing to suit at once the bride's quiet taste, and the sphere into which she was going. She was unaffectedly charmed, holding it out to the light to admire the stones, her own eyes almost as bright as themselves.

"Oh, Arthur dear, and I called you mean! It was just like you to choose a ridiculous way of giving this lovely present. Fancy me with a diamond brooch—I shall feel so grand. How can I ever thank you enough?"

Mrs Asplin dropped a tear on the shabby table-cloth, for she never could resist a tear when she was very happy, and Mellicent wailed sadly:

"I wish I were married! I wish I were married! It would suit me far better than her. I wish I had been engaged first, after all, because now every one will give Esther a present as a compliment to the family, and when it comes to my turn they will think they have done their duty, and send nothing at all, or only some horrid, niggly little thing like a bread-fork or crumb-scoop! I just know how it will be—"

"But you won't need presents, dear. You are going to marry a millionaire, and live in the lap of luxury ever after. You settled that years ago," said Peggy slyly; but Arthur smiled reassuringly in the troubled face, and said:

"Never mind, Chubby, you shall have exactly the same present from me, at any rate! Diamond brooch, mouse-trap, clothes-pegs, all complete. I'll stand by you. Just drop me a line when it's settled, and I will look after them at once."

"Oh, thank you, Arthur—I will!" agreed Mellicent with a fervour which evoked a peal of laughter from her companions. Esther gathered together her possessions and ran off to her own room to put on her dress, and Mrs Asplin escorted her visitors to the drawing-room, where tea was served for their refreshment. Another woman might have apologised for the shabby dress which she had donned for a hard day's work, and felt uncomfortable at having been discovered in such guise by a young lady accustomed to move in the highest circle of London society, but that was not Mrs Asplin's way. She seated herself in the sunniest seat that the room afforded, and picked off the odd ends of thread which were scattered over her skirt with smiling unconcern, too much engrossed in thinking of her guests to have any care for her own appearance. She made Eunice sit beside her, and seeing that the girl looked shy, chatted away to her in friendly Irish fashion, so as to put her at her ease. Her face lightened as she did so, for she was thinking to herself: "But she is charming! A dear, little tender face that might be quite beautiful some day. The child is half alive, but if some one woke her up—I wonder now if Arthur—" She turned suddenly, and met Arthur's eyes fixed upon her, intent and questioning, as if for some reason he was keenly interested in her impressions of Eunice Rollo. Was it imagination, or did he flush beneath her questioning glance? For one moment she felt sure that he did, but the next it seemed as if she must have been mistaken, for he was addressing her with all his wonted self- possession.

"Mater, I've been telling these girls that I'm going to get up a picnic next week. I want to arrange some sort of a jollification before Esther goes, and a picnic seems the best thing to try for in this weather. Professor Reid will be here, so he will take care of Esther, and I'll get the two Darcys to join, and hire a chaperon for the occasion. It would be too tiring for you or my mother, for I want to fly to pasture new and go some little distance; but if I speak nicely to little Mrs Bryce, she'll come like a shot, and be an addition to the party, for she is a dear little soul, and younger than many people of half her age. You'll trust the girls to me, won't you, if I can fix it up?"

"Of course I will! It will be a pleasant break in the midst of our preparations. Where do you think of going? Have you made any plans, or is it still in the air?"

Arthur nodded his head in complacent fashion. "Now I'll tell you all about it! I have been making inquiries for the last few days, and have pretty well made out my programme. This picnic is to be given in Esther's honour, and for once I am going to be extravagant, and hire a saloon carriage to take us in state to the place where we would be. You live in the country, and woods and dales are no novelty to you, so we are going to be adventurous this time, and go to the sea!"

"The sea!" echoed Mrs Asplin in dismay; but her quiet voice was drowned by the chorus of exclamations in which the girls gave vent to their delight. To people who live in inland places the very idea of visiting the sea brings with it a sense of exhilaration, and the expectation of Arthur's picnic was trebled at once by the sound of that magic name. They questioned eagerly, even Eunice putting in her query with the rest, and Arthur smilingly unfolded his scheme.

A two hours' journey would take them within five miles of an East Coast village, where some years before he had discovered an ideal spot for a picnic. This was no less than a tiny island lying out some distance from the shore—a charming little islet, its shores washed by the waves, its crest covered with grass, and shadowed by a tuft of trees. There were a few good boats to be obtained, and the fishermen would help Rob and himself to row the party across, while, once arrived on the island, what could be more delightful than to sit on the sand with the waves splashing up to their very feet, to drink in the fresh sea breeze, and enjoy their luncheon under the shade of the trees? They would have to leave early, as it might grow chilly in such an exposed place, but as the last train left the station at seven o'clock, they would have no temptation to prolong their stay.

The chorus of delight grew louder than ever as he spoke, and Mrs Asplin's feeble objections were scarcely allowed a hearing. The girls laughed her to scorn when she tried to prove the superiority of places in the neighbourhood, and even Arthur paid less than his usual deference to her opinion, though he did check himself in the midst of an explanation to ask what objections she had to offer to his plan.

"I—I—Oh, none at all, only it is so far-off, and I'm nervous about you, dears! If you were late getting back—"

"But we can't be late! The train settles that question. If that is the only fear you have, you may put your mind at rest at once, dear. The train settles that business for us."

Arthur turned aside, as if the last word had been spoken on the subject; but Peggy suspected a deeper meaning to Mrs Asplin's words, and hung back on her way to the gate, to link her arm in that of her kind friend, and beg for an explanation.

"Oh, Peg, it's the sea, the cruel sea!" cried Mrs Asplin then. "I have such a terror of the water since my boy was drowned! It's over ten years ago now, but it's as fresh with me as if it had been just yesterday. My bonnie boy! You never saw him, Peg, but he was my first, and even Rex himself was never quite the same. It's foolish of me, and sinful into the bargain, for you are in God's keeping, wherever you may go, and it would be selfish to spoil your enjoyment. I will try to overcome my fear, but, Peggy dear, you know what good reason I have for dreading suspense just now—and as you love me, don't let them miss that train! If you were late, if you didn't appear at the right time, I should be terrified, and imagine all sorts of horrors. I—I don't know what would happen to me! Let nothing, nothing make you late. Remember me, Peg, in the midst of your pleasuring!"

"Mater, I will!" cried Peggy solemnly. She looked in the sweet, worn face, and her heart beat quickly. A hundred resolutions had she made in her life, and alas! had also broken, but this time it would go hardly with her if she neglected her vow to her second mother.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

The next morning Peggy and Eunice converted the library into a work- room, and cut out their blouses by the aid of paper patterns borrowed from Mrs Saville's maid. This dignitary had made several offers of help, which had been courteously but firmly refused, for the two new hands were determined to accomplish their task unaided, and thereby to secure the honour and glory to themselves.

"The first step is easy enough. Any baby could cut out by a pattern!" Peggy declared, but an hour's work proved that it would have required a very intelligent baby indeed to have accomplished the feat. It was extraordinary how confusing a paper pattern could be! The only thing that seemed more confusing than the pattern itself was the explanation which accompanied it. Peggy tossed the separate pieces to and fro, the while she groaned over the mysterious phrases. "'Place the perforated edge on the bias of the cloth!' Which is the perforated edge? Which is the bias? 'Be careful to see that the nicked holes come exactly in the middle of—' I don't know in the least which they call the 'nicked holes!' I can't think what is the use of half these silly little pieces. If I couldn't cut out a pattern better than that, I'd retire from the business. Why can't they tell you plainly what you have to do?"

So on she stormed, prancing from one side of the table to the other, shaking the flimsy sheets in an angry hand, and scattering pins and needles broadcast on the carpet, while Eunice, like the tortoise, toiled slowly away, until bit by bit the puzzle became clear to her mind. She discovered that one piece of the pattern stood for half only of a particular seam, while others, such as collar and cuffs, represented a whole; mastered the mystery of holes and notches, and explained the same to Peggy, who was by no means too grateful for her assistance.

"Well, I'll take your word for it," she said. "I myself can make nothing out of an explanation so illogical and lacking in common-sense. I'll cut the stupid thing out as you say, and see what comes of it. Here goes—"

Her scissors were in the silk before Eunice had time to protest, and away she hacked, with such speed and daring that she had finished the cutting out before the other had finished her careful preparation of the first seam.

"Now then for the tacking!" she cried, and for five minutes on end there was silence, until— "Dear me!" quoth Miss Peggy in a tone of dismay, and peaked solemn brows over her work.

"What is the matter? Has something gone wrong?"

"Um—yes! Seems to have done. The stupid old silk must have got twisted about somehow, when I was cutting out this back. The roses are all upside down!" She spoke in a studiedly careless manner, but Eunice's face was a picture of woe. To her orderly mind the accident seemed irretrievable; and yet how was it to be remedied, when extravagant Peggy had used every fragment of her material? Her face fell, her voice thrilled with horror.

"Never! You don't mean it! How dreadful! What will you do? Oh, Peggy, take mine, do, and let me buy something else for myself."

"Not an inch! It's no use, Eunice, I will not do it! We are going to have blouses alike, and that's settled. That's the worst of these flower patterns, they do cut out so badly: but it is no use grieving over what cannot be cured. Go on with your work, my dear, and don't mind me."

"But what will you—"

"Sew it up as it is! I'm not sure that it won't look better, after all. More Frenchy!" and Peggy pinned the odd pieces together, and smiled at the effect with a complacency which left the other breathless with astonishment. She seemed oblivious of the fact that she had made a mistake, and utterly unconcerned at the prospect of wearing a garment in which the pattern reversed itself in back and front. Such a state of mind was inconceivable to the patient toiler, who rounded every corner with her scissors as carefully as if an untoward nick meant destruction, and pinned and repinned half-a-dozen times over before she could satisfy herself of the absence of crinkles. Peggy was ready to be "tried on" before Eunice had half finished the first process, and though she went obediently at the first call, the ordeal was a painful one to all concerned. Eunice was so nervous and ignorant that she dare hardly make an alteration, for fear of making bad worse, while Peggy wriggled like an eel, turning her head now over this shoulder, now over that, and issued half-a-dozen contradictory orders at the same moment.

"The shoulder creases—put the pins in tighter! The back is too wide— take a great handful out of the middle seam. Why does it stick out like that at the waist, just where it ought to go in? Oh, the fulness, of course, I forgot that. Leave that alone then, and go on to the neck. Put pins in all round where the band ought to go."

"Tryings on" were numerous during the next few mornings; but, while Eunice's blouse gradually assumed a trig and reputable appearance, Peggy's developed each time a fresh set of creases and wrinkles. Neither girl was experienced enough to understand that carelessly cut and badly tacked material can never attain to a satisfactory result, nor in truth did they trouble very much over the deficiency, for Peggy no sooner descried a fault, than her inventive genius hit on a method of concealing it. Revers, niches, and bows were tacked on with a recklessness which made Eunice gasp with dismay, but she could not deny that the effect was "Frenchy" and even artistic, for, whatever might be Miss Peggy's shortcomings as a plain sew-er, she had a gift of graceful draping which amounted almost to genius. After the first day's experience Peggy had readily consented to her friend's plea for a week's preparation, and well it was that she had done so, for it was five good days before the bodices were sufficiently finished to allow the sleeves to be taken in hand. Oh, those sleeves! Who would ever have believed that it could be so difficult to fit such simple things, or to persuade them to adapt themselves to holes expressly provided for their accommodation? The girls spent weary hours turning, twisting, pleating in, letting out, tacking, and untacking, until at length Peggy's long- worn patience gave way altogether, and she vowed that not once again should the blouse go on her back until she donned it for the evening's exhibition.

"If they are not right this way, they will have to be wrong! I can't waste all my life fussing over a pair of sleeves. What can it matter whether they are put an inch one way or the other? They have just not to settle down and be happy where I put them, for I'm not going to move them any more!"

She frowned as she spoke and drew an impatient sigh, which did not altogether refer to the work on hand. There was a weight on her heart which refused to be conjured away even by the presence of Arthur and Eunice, and the interests and occupations which they brought with them. Rob was angry—no, what was even worse, he was not angry, but, with a stupid masculine blindness, had taken for granted that his company was no longer desired. Nearly a fortnight had passed since that miserable afternoon, and not once had he been inside the gates of Yew Hedge. She had met him twice, and each time had come home from the interview feeling more miserable, as Rob elaborately sustained his old friendly manner. To cry, "Hallo, Peggy!" on meeting; to discuss the doings of the neighbourhood in an easy-going fashion, as if no cloud hovered between them, and then to march past the very gates without coming in, refuse invitations on trumpery excuses, and attend a church at the opposite end of the parish—such behaviour as this was worse than inconsistent in Peggy's eyes, it approached perilously near hypocrisy!

"I don't care!" she told herself recklessly; but she did care all the same, and her heart gave a throb of relief when on the morning of what had come to be known in the family as "Blouse day," Arthur announced his intention of asking both the Darcy brothers to dinner.

"After your hard work you ought to have an audience to admire and applaud," he said, "and I shall tell them we want them particularly. They were asking how your dressmaking was getting on the other day, so I am sure they will be glad to accept. You won't want an answer, I suppose, Mistress Housekeeper? They can return with me or not, as the case may be?"

"Certainly! Certainly! It makes no difference," said Peggy loftily; and thus it happened that the girls went upstairs to dress that evening without knowing who would be waiting to receive them when they made their entrance into the drawing-room. The blouses were laid out in the dressing-room which connected the two bedrooms, and to a casual glance there was no doubt which was the more successful. The one could boast no remove from the commonplace, the other was both artistic and uncommon, a garment which might have come direct from the hands of a French modiste. Eunice's face fell as she looked, and she breathed a sigh of depression.

"Oh, Peggy, how horrid mine looks beside yours! What a mean, skimpy little rag! I am ashamed to appear in it. You will look beautiful, perfectly beautiful! You have done it splendidly."

Peggy gave a murmur of polite disclaimer, and pursed in her lips to restrain a smile.

"Wait until they are on, dear. You can never tell how a thing looks until it is on," she said reassuringly; but alas, for Peggy, little did she dream how painfully she would discover the truth of her own words.

A quarter of an hour later Eunice was hooking the front of her bodice, when the door burst open and in rushed Peggy, red in the face, gasping for breath, her neck craned forward, her arms sticking out stiffly on either side, for all the world like a waxen figure in a shop window.

"My neck!" she gasped. "My sleeves! They torture me! My arms are screwed up like sausages. The collar band cuts like a knife. I'm like a trussed fowl—I'll burst! I know I shall! I'll die of asphyxiation. What shall I do? What shall I do? What can have happened to make it like this?"

"Oh dear! oh dear! You do look uncomfortable. It was big enough when you tried it on last. You must have drawn in the arm-holes while you were sewing them. Yes, you have! I can see the puckers, and the sleeves are stretched so tight too. You didn't take them in again, surely?"

"Just a tiny bit. They looked so baggy. But the collar, Eunice, the collar! For pity's sake take it off! I shall be raw in a moment. Take the scissors, pull—tug! Get it off as quick as you can."

"Take it off! But then what will you—" pleaded Eunice; but Peggy's eyes flashed at her with so imperious a command that she began to snip without further protest. The band came off easily—astonishingly easily, and Peggy heaved a sigh of relief, and flapped her arms in the air.

"When! That's better. I can breathe again. I could not have borne it another moment. Now I should be fairly comfortable, if only—only—the sleeves were a little bigger! It is too late to let them out, but just round the arm-holes, eh? A little tiny snip here and there to relieve the pressure?"

She put her head on one side in her most insinuating fashion, but Eunice was adamant. Never, she protested, would she consent to such a step. No seam could be expected to hold, if treated in such fashion. How would Peggy like it if her sleeve came off altogether in the course of the evening? There would be humiliation! Better a thousand times a trifling discomfort than such a downfall as that!

"Trifling!" echoed Peggy sadly. "Trifling indeed. Shows all you know. I am suffering tortures, my dear, and you stand there, cool and comfortable, preaching at me!" She paused for a moment, and for the first time stared scrutinously at her friend. Eunice looked charming, the simplicity of her dress giving a quaint, Quaker-like appearance to the sweet face. Plain as her blouse was, it was a remarkable success for a first effort, and though it had necessarily a dozen faults, the whole effect was neat and dainty.

"What did I tell you?" groaned Peggy dismally. "Who looks better now, you or I? I look 'beautiful,' don't I, perfectly beautiful! It's so becoming to have no collar band, and one's arms sticking out like flails! I sha'n't be able to eat a bite. It's as much as I can do to sit still, much less move about. I'll put on a fichu, and then I can leave some hooks unfastened, to give myself a little air."

It seemed, indeed, the best solution, since somehow or other it was necessary to conceal the jagged silk round the neck. Peggy pinned on a square of chiffon; but the numerous trimmings over which it lay gave a clumsy appearance to her usually trim little figure, while discomfort and annoyance steadily raised the colour in her cheeks. She was conscious of appearing at her worst, and for one moment was tempted to throw aside her plan, and take to ordinary evening-dress. Only for one moment, however, for the next she decided roundly against so mean a course. What if she had failed? her guest had succeeded, and why rob her of praise well-earned? After all, would she not have been a hundred times more distressed if positions had been reversed, and Eunice was suffering her present discomfort? The cloud left her brow, and she led the way downstairs with a jaunty air.

"Come along, come along! I've always vowed that I enjoyed a good beating, and now I've got a chance of proving the truth of my words. You are a born dressmaker, my dear, and the sooner I retire from the business the better. You will be the hero of the occasion, and I shall be the butt; but don't look so remorseful, I implore you. It has been a great joke, and some day—years hence!—I may even see some humour in the present condition of my arms. I'm accustomed to being teased, and don't care one little bit how much they deride me!"

A moment later, as the drawing-room door opened, she realised indeed how little she cared, for Rob was not there. His excuses had evidently already been made, for no allusion was made to his absence, while her own appearance with Eunice was the signal for a general rising, every one exclaiming and applauding, and walking round in admiring circles. Eunice was overwhelmed with congratulations, while Peggy had to run the gauntlet of remorseless family banter.

Only one voice was raised in her behalf, but Hector Darcy declared with unblushing effrontery that he voted in her favour, and held to his decision, in spite of all that the others could say. Peggy deplored his want of taste, yet felt a dreary sense of comfort in his fealty. It soothed the ache at her heart, and made her so unconsciously gentle in return that the major's hopes went up at a bound.

After dinner, chairs were carried into the verandah, and Peggy made no demur when Hector set her seat and his own at a little distance from the rest. Perhaps at heart she was even a little grateful to him for being so anxious to enjoy her society, for no one else seemed to desire it for that moment. Colonel and Mrs Saville were talking contentedly together, Arthur was engrossed with Eunice, Rob—ah, where was Rob? Had he made up his mind never to enter Yew Hedge again? Peggy turned her conversational gift to account, and led the subject so subtly in the way she would have it go, that presently Hector found himself explaining the cause of his brother's absence, believing that that explanation was entirely of his own offering.

"Rob is busy writing a paper for some magazine or review, and can think of nothing else. You know what he is when he once gets mounted on his hobby! He would have thought it a terrible waste of time to have left his papers to come out to dinner."

Well, well, the time had been when Rob would not have thought it waste of time to spend an evening with his friend; when not even an article for a review would have prevented him from witnessing the completion of an enterprise in which his partner was interested.

It was a very woe-begone Peggy who crept into bed that evening. Her arms were stiff and sore from their long pressure, there were the deep red marks on her shoulders where the seams had pressed into the flesh, but the ache in her heart was worse to bear than either one or the other. She burrowed her little brown head into the pillow, and the salt tears trickled down her nose.

"Nobody loves me!" she sobbed. "Nobody loves me! Mellicent was right. He loves beetles better than me!"



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A week later Arthur's picnic came off under circumstances of unusual eclat. The extravagant fellow had arranged everything on so luxurious a scale that Mellicent sat in a dream of happiness, building castles in the air, in which she continually drove about in dog-carts, travelled in reserved carriages, and ate luncheons provided by Buzzard. Her plump face assumed quite a haughty aspect, as she mentally acknowledged the salutations of the crowd, and issued orders to flunkies, gorgeous in powder and knee-breeches. It was enough happiness just to sit and think of it, and munch the delicious chocolates which Arthur dispensed among his guests.

It was a pretty scene—that group of young people in the Pullman carriage, the girls in their white dresses, the tall, handsome men, the cheery little chaperon in the centre. The professor and Esther sat by a window whispering earnestly together, for having been separated for a weary length of ten whole days, they had naturally large arrears of talk to make up. Arthur pointed out the various objects of interest to Eunice, as the train whizzed past, and Peggy sat glued to the side of Mrs Bryce, determined not to be monopolised by Hector thus early in the day. Rob had come with his brother, but she felt little satisfaction in his presence, knowing that he had tried to refuse the invitation, and had only yielded on Arthur's assertion that he was needed for help, not ornament, and must come whether he liked it or not, to lend a hand with the oars. He looked pre-occupied and solemn, but was absolutely friendly in his manner, rejoicing in the fineness of the weather, and congratulating Peggy on the success of her dressmaking experiment, of which he had heard from his brother. To explain that Hector's report was entirely prejudiced, seemed but a tacit acknowledgment of his infatuation, and Peggy blushed in sheer anger at the perversity of Fate, the while she gave the true version of the affair, and dilated on her own sufferings.

"It will be a lesson to me for life not to interfere with the business of others, and take the bread out of the mouths of professionals by amateur interference," she concluded grandiloquently, and Rob smiled in his grave, kindly fashion. It seemed to Peggy that there was an added kindliness in his smile of late, and several times during the morning she looked up suddenly, to discover his eyes fixed upon her with a scrutiny at once so tender, so anxious, and so searching, that she was obliged to turn aside to conceal her tears.

When the train arrived at its destination, a couple of carriages conveyed the travellers on the next stage of their journey, and with their arrival at the little fishing village came the first hitch in the programme. Arthur had written in advance to ask that two of the best boats should be reserved for his party, and that a fisherman should be in readiness to go in each, so that his friends need not exert themselves more than they felt inclined. It is one thing, however, to despatch an order to the depths of the country, and quite another to find it fulfilled. As a matter of fact, the letter was even now lying unopened in the village post-office, and Arthur was confronted with the intelligence that men and boats had departed en masse to attend a regatta which was taking place some miles along the coast. Only a few of the oldest and most unwieldy boats had been left behind, and neither man nor boy could be found to row them. Here was a fine predicament! A snapshot taken of the party at this moment would have been an eloquent study in disappointment, and each one looked expectantly at Arthur, waiting for him to find a solution of the difficulty.

"Here is a fine pickle! I'm furious with myself, and yet I don't see what more I could have done. There are two alternatives before us, so far as I can see—either we must get into one of these old tubs and row ourselves across, or give up the island altogether, and spend the day where we are."

At this there was a groan of dismay, for, truth to tell, the village was of an uninteresting character, and the sands felt like an oven in the shadeless noon. To spend the day here would indeed be waste of time, while only a few miles off lay the island of their dreams—that wonderful island, with the blue waves splashing its shores, the kindly trees shading its crest.

"The island! the island!" cried the girls in chorus, while the men looked at each other, braced themselves up, and said:

"We can do it. Why not? It will be a stiff pull, but the day is our own. We can take our time, and rest when we are tired. Let us go at once and choose a boat."

It was Dobson's choice, however, or very nearly so, for the only boats left were tubs indeed, in which a score of passengers could have been accommodated as easily as eight. Large as they were, however, there was one member of the party who seemed diffident about their sea-going quality, and, wonderful to relate, that person was Peggy herself.

"Is it safe?" she kept asking. "Is it safe? Are you quite sure it is safe?"—and her companions stared in amazement at this sudden access of nervousness.

"Why, Peggy, you are surely not turning coward in your old age!" Arthur cried laughingly, as he dragged at the unwieldy bulk. "If you are afraid of this old bark, I don't know when you would feel safe. It is like going to sea in a pantechnicon!"

"And after a voyage to India, too! How funny! I am not a bit afraid, and I have never been out of England in my life. Are you afraid of being drowned?" chimed in Mellicent, with an air of superiority which goaded Peggy past endurance.

"I was not thinking of myself. It is possible sometimes to be nervous for another," she blurted out, and the next moment wished her tongue had been bitten off before she had uttered such a rash remark; for what could Rob think, or his companions either, but that the person for whom she was anxious was present among them? They had not heard Mrs Asplin's words of entreaty, or seen the strained expression on her face as she murmured, "Remember, dear! Oh, be sure to remember!"

She turned and walked along the shore by herself, clasping her hands in a passion of longing and pity.

"I gave her my promise, and I'll keep it, whatever they think. It will be my fault if anything goes wrong. I know, and they don't!"

It was one o'clock before the island was reached, for the row out took a long time, despite the fact that the amateur oarsmen were all fairly proficient at their work. Even the professor pulled with a will, while to see haughty Hector in his shirt sleeves, with his hair matted on his forehead, was indeed a novel experience. Arthur was stroke, and Mellicent sat in front and coached him in his duty, to the amusement of the company and his own unspeakable delight, and Eunice dabbled her hand in the water, and sent little showers of spray tossing up into the air. Every now and then, when Arthur made a reply to Eunice more professedly deferential than usual, her eyes met his, and they smiled at each other—that smile of happy, mutual understanding which had grown common between them in the last few months. Peggy intercepted one of the glances, and felt at once rejoiced and sorrowful; rejoiced because it was good to see Arthur started on the way she would have him go, sorrowful because she realised, as many another had done before her, that his gain must also be her loss, and that just in proportion as Eunice became necessary to him her own importance must decrease.

When all was said and done, however, it was impossible to indulge in low spirits in the hours that followed. Oh, the delights of that island, the dear, shingly beach with its little pools full of a hundred briny treasures, the long trails of seaweeds, which were credited with the gift of foretelling weather as well as any barometer; the tiny crabs that burrowed among the stones; the sea anemones, the jelly-fish, so innocent to regard, so deadly to encounter. They were all there, with tiny little pink-lined shells, and pebbles of marvellous transparency which must surely, surely, be worth taking to a lapidary to examine! What cries of delight followed the landing, what hasty summoning of the whole party to witness some fresh discovery; what trippings on slippery stones, and splashing of fresh white dresses! Then, too, the long- checked pangs of hunger asserted themselves, and would no longer be restrained, and the men were hardly allowed time to fasten the boat, go imperiously were they hurried on shore with the precious freight of hampers.

Lunch was spread beneath the tree, and was no sooner finished than Mellicent inquired, "When's tea?" a request which the hearers felt bound to deride, though in reality it found an echo in every heart. Astonishing as it may appear, a picnic lunch invariably seems to create a longing for the cup which cheers, and on this occasion the sea air had a sleepifying influence which increased that desire.

"I re-ally think we had better have it soon. I can hardly keep from y- awning all the time!" cried Mrs Bryce, suiting the action to the word, and such was the result of infection that two pairs of hands went up to as many mouths even as she spoke.

"Very well, then, say four o'clock. Can't possibly have it before then," said Arthur, struggling vainly to keep his jaws together. "Oh, this will never do. Come down to the rocks, all of you, and get a good blow to freshen you up. I never saw such a company of sleepers!"

Eunice and Mellicent followed obediently enough, while the lovers seated themselves in a quiet corner, and Rob lay down on the sand beside one of the little pools, to watch the movements of the crawling insects. His trained glance was quick to understand the purport of what would have seemed aimless fittings to and fro to an ordinary observer, and soon out came notebook and pencil, and he was hard at work chronicling a dozen interesting discoveries. Peggy lingered behind to offer her help to Mrs Bryce, but that good lady, being secretly anxious to indulge in forty winks, seconded Hector Darcy's protest in so emphatic a manner that she had no loophole for delay. She strolled with him down to the shore, following Arthur and his companions, but not so closely that there was not a distance of several yards between the two big stones which had been selected as resting-places. So far as privacy of conversation was concerned, the yards might have been miles, for the waves dashed up with a continual murmur, and the breeze seemed to carry the sound of the voices far out to sea. Peggy clasped her hands on her knee, and gazed before her with dreamy eyes. Her little face looked very sweet and thoughtful, and Hector Darcy watched her beneath the brim of his hat, and built his own castle in the air, a castle which had grown dearer and more desirable ever since his return to England. The opportunity for which he had been waiting had come at last, and surely it was an omen for good that it had come by the side of that sea which had witnessed their meeting; which, if all went well, would witness their start together on the new life!

"I shall be going back to India soon, Peggy," he said softly. "The time is drawing near;" and Peggy looked in his face, and realised that what she had dreaded was at hand, and could not be avoided. She heard her own voice murmur words of conventional regret, but Hector took no notice except to look still deeper into her eyes.

"Am I to go alone, Peggy?" he asked gently. "I have been an independent fellow all my life, and thought I needed no one but myself, but that is all altered since I met you! I should get along badly now without you to help me, and share my lot!"

"Oh, Hector, no! Don't say so. It's all a mistake. How could I help you? I have been a hindrance, not a help. It was owing to my carelessness that you hurt yourself, and it was only your generosity which made light of it. Father says it is a serious thing for a soldier to sprain his ankle, for it is never so strong again, and may fail him at a critical moment. I know quite well how much harm I have done you."

"Do you, Peggy? I don't agree with you there; but if it is so, is not that all the more reason why you should do me a good turn now? I don't mind your blaming yourself, dear, if it makes you the more inclined to be generous. I have loved you ever since we met, and it would be impossible to part from you now. I need you, Peggy; come to me! Be my wife, and give me the happiness of having you always beside me."

He spoke with a whole-hearted earnestness which brought the tears into Peggy's eyes, but she shook her head none the less firmly.

"I can't! I can't! It would be doing you a worse injury than the first. I should be no help to you, Hector, for I don't care for you in the way you mean, and I could never marry a man unless I loved him with all my heart. It is all a mistake—indeed it is. You only imagine that you care for me because you have seen a great deal of me lately, and I seem part of home and the old life. When you have gone back to India, you will forget all about me, or be glad that I did not take you at your word."

Hector pressed his lips together and gave a strained attempt at a smile.

"I am not a boy, Peggy. I know what I want, but you—you are so young, how can you be sure of yourself yet? I am not going to take 'No' for an answer. I will wait—ask for an extension of leave—come home for you later on. You shall have time, plenty of time, but I will not let you decide at once. You don't know your own mind!"

"Oh, Hector!" Even at that critical moment a gleam of fun twinkled in Peggy's eyes. "Oh, Hector, how can you? No one has ever accused me before of not knowing my own mind. I know it only too well, and I will not let you wait on, to gain nothing but a second disappointment. I should not change, and listen, Hector—it would be a bad thing if I did! I like you very much—far, far better than I ever believed I could do when we first met, for you seemed so different then, so haughty and self-satisfied, that if you had not been Rob's brother I should have disliked you outright. I see now that I judged you too quickly, but there is still so much difference between us that we should never be happy together. You are a man of the world, and like to live in the world, and conform to its ways, and at heart I am nothing but a Bohemian. I have no respect for the rules and regulations of Society, and the only feeling they arouse in me is a desperate desire to break through them and shock Mrs Grundy. I am erratic, and careless, and forgetful. I am ashamed of it, and honestly mean to improve, but, oh, poor Hector, how you would suffer if you had to put up with me during the process! You ought to marry a clever woman who would keep your house as you would like it kept, and help you on by her gracious ways, not a madcap girl who has not learned to manage herself, much less other people. Dear Hector, I thank you with all my heart for thinking so kindly of me and paying me such an honour, but, indeed, indeed, it cannot be."

She laid her hand on his as she spoke with a pretty, winsome gesture, and Hector just touched it with his own, and then let it drop. His expression had altered completely while she was speaking, and he had lost his air of assurance. Those few words which had dropped out so unconsciously had convinced him of the hopelessness of his cause more entirely than any argument. "If you had not been Rob's brother." She would have disliked him if he had not been Rob's brother. She could not dislike one who was Rob's brother! Innocent Peggy little suspected the eloquence of that confession, but Hector understood, and read in it the downfall of his hopes. He sat gazing out to sea, while she looked at him with anxious eyes, and for a long time neither spoke a word. Then—"I could have loved you very dearly, Peggy," he said softly, "very dearly!" The strong chin trembled, and Peggy's heart yearned pitifully over him, but she noticed with relief that he spoke in problematical fashion, as if the love were more a possibility of the future than a present fact. Men of Hector Darcy's type set an exaggerated value on anything which belongs to themselves, the while they unconsciously depreciate what is denied them. Peggy understood that the very fact of her refusal of himself had lessened her attractions in his sight, and the knowledge brought with it nothing but purest satisfaction.

It was a relief to both when the summons to tea relieved them from their painful tete-a-tete, but if they flattered themselves that their disturbed looks escaped the notice of their friends, they were quite mistaken. Each member of the party, even to Mellicent herself, was aware that some development of the situation had taken place since lunch, and pondered anxiously as to what it could be. At the one moment it seemed that they must surely be engaged; at the next it was as evident that they were not; and Mellicent composed imaginary interviews the while she demolished cakes and biscuits, in which she heard Peggy's voice murmuring alternate vows of love and friendship.

"He has proposed to her, I'm certain of it!" she told herself, "and oh, how I wish I had been there! I'd simply love to have heard him do it. I'm glad women don't have to ask men to marry them, it must be so embarrassing to be refused! Now, if Hector Darcy had proposed to me, I should have said 'Yes' out of sheer fright, but Peggy would refuse a prince to-morrow, if she got the chance. I wonder what she said to him! In books the girl always says, 'I cannot give you my love, but I will always be your friend.' I should be so cross, if she said that to me, that I should want to shake her. How could you be friends with a person who had made you so miserable? ... Now she is smiling at him as pleasantly as ever ... They must be engaged! I'll be bridesmaid again, and get a nice present! I wonder what Rob—"

But at this interesting moment Arthur broke in upon her surmises by calling attention to the current which was sweeping round the island.

"Just look at that water rushing past!" he cried. "We didn't notice anything like that when we rowed across. It was slack tide then, I suppose, and now it is rising. It is running strong! I say, what about that boat? We had better look after her at once."

Rob leapt to his feet before the words were well spoken, and ran hurriedly forward. His companions watched him go, saw him cross the plot of grass, come out from beneath the shadow of the trees, and stand for a moment silhouetted against the sky; then he stopped short, and threw up his hands with a gesture of dismay. It was indeed a sight to fill the onlooker with dismay, for the tide had reached the spot where the boat was moored, and was drifting her rapidly towards the shore!



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

In another moment all the members of the party had left their seats, and were standing by Rob's side, gazing disconsolately at the lost boat. Already it had been carried to a considerable distance, and the four men stared into each other's faces in horrified bewilderment.

"This is a nice state of things!"

"What is to be done? How on earth are we to get her back?"

"She has floated so far—too far, I am afraid, for anyone to swim after her."

"I could not last out such a distance. It seems a risky thing to attempt, much too risky. It would not improve matters to have a drowning case into the bargain. I am afraid none of us dare attempt it."

Then there was a pause, while the girls huddled together in a group, watching the men's faces with anxious glances. Arthur stood frowning and biting his moustache, his eyes bright with anger.

"I should like to shoot myself for my stupidity! Why could I not have thought of the tide when we were beaching the boat? It would have been just as easy to drag her up a few yards higher, and then we should have been safe. We should not have been in such a stupid hurry to be finished, but I heard Peggy's voice calling to me and—"

"Oh no, no! Don't say it—don't say it! Arthur, Arthur, don't say it was my fault!" cried Peggy in a voice of such agonised distress as startled the ears of her companions. Arthur's eyes turned from the boat for the first time, and he hastened to her side.

"Why, Peg," he cried, "what's the matter, dear? Nobody was blaming you; there is not a shadow of blame to be laid on you. The fault is ours for not giving more thought to what we were about. Rob and I ought to know how to beach a boat by this time, seeing the amount of yachting we have done in our day, but, indeed, I don't need to blame any one but myself; I was in charge, and should have taken proper care."

"Well, it is not much use discussing who is to blame; the mischief is done, and we had better set our wits to work to remedy it," cried the little chaperon briskly. "If the boat cannot be brought back, I suppose it means that we must stay here until—"

"Oh, how exciting! It's just like the Swiss Family Robinson, and Leila on the Desert Island. It's as good as being shipwrecked, without any of the bother," interrupted Mellicent gushingly. "Now, then, we must make a tent, and examine the trees to see which are good to eat, and catch crabs and lobsters, and shoot the birds as they fly past, and Professor Reid shall be the father—the wise, well-informed man who knows what everything is, and how everything should be done—and Esther shall be his wife, and—"

"Mellicent, don't! Don't be silly, dear!" pleaded Esther gently. "It is not a subject for jokes. Seriously, Arthur, how long may we have to stay? Is there any chance of being left here for the night?"

"Not the slightest, I should say. If we don't get back in time for our drive to the station, the flymen will give the alarm, and some one will come over to see what has gone wrong. The worst that may happen is that we shall have to wait until the men get back from their regatta, but you need have no fear of remaining for the night."

"But in any case it will be impossible to catch our train."

"I fear it will. We shall have to make the best of it, and camp at the inn until morning. It's unfortunate, but there are worse troubles at sea. Don't look so miserable, Peggy; I promise you, you shall come to no harm."

"But, mother—Mrs Asplin—what will they think? If we don't get back until late, can we send a telegram to them? It is such a tiny place that the office might be closed."

Arthur's face clouded over, for this was a view of the case which had not occurred to him, and former experiences of country villages did not tend to reassure him.

"I can't tell you. I will drive to the station and do my best to send a wire from there, but that's all I can say. There is one comfort: they know at home that if we miss the seven o'clock train, we are fixed for the night, so they won't be as anxious as they might otherwise have been. They will probably guess pretty well what has happened."

He spoke with an assumption of confidence, but Peggy was not to be deceived, and she turned on her heel and walked along the shore, wringing her hands together, and catching her breath in short, gasping sobs.

"Help me! Oh, help me!" she repeated over and over again in a quivering voice, and the cry was addressed to no human ear. She was speaking direct to One who understood her trouble, who knew without being told the reason of her anxiety. Not in vain had Mrs Asplin set an example of a Christian's faith and trust before the girl's quick-seeing eyes. Peggy had never forgotten her sweet calm on hearing the doctor's verdict, or that other interview in the vicarage garden when she herself had first resolved to join the great army of Christ, and the habit was growing daily stronger to turn to Him for help in all the difficult paths of life. Now in "this moment of intensest anxiety her first impulse was to leave her companions," and go away by herself where she could pour out her heart in a deep, voiceless prayer. She walked round to the further side of the little islet, and seating herself on the same stone which an hour earlier had been the scene of her tete-a-tete with Hector, covered her face with her hands and rocked to and fro in an abandonment of grief. They could not catch the train ... They could send no telegram of reassurement; the night would pass—the long, long night, and no word would be received of their safety ... For her own father and mother she was not seriously concerned, for they were too old travellers not to allow for unexpected delays, and had moreover prophesied more than once that such a scatter-brained party would be certain to miss their train; but Mrs Asplin with her exaggerated ideas of distance, her terror of the sea, her nervous forebodings of evil—how would she endure those long waiting hours? With her imaginative eye, Peggy saw before her the scene in the drawing-room at the vicarage, as the hour of arrival passed by without bringing the return of the travellers; saw the sweet, worn face grow even paler and more strained, the thin hands pressed against the heart. She recalled the pathetic plea which had been made to her, and her own vow of remembrance, and once more the responsibility of the position seemed heavier than she could bear. "Oh, help me!" she murmured once more. "Help me now!" and then a voice spoke to her by name, and she looked up, to see Rob's anxious face looking into hers.