he fancied was a haunted look in the eyes, the first shadow of which he had noted at the Academy, when she watched Roland and Gertrude Anley together. No one else could have seen the secret of Evelyn's feelings on her face; but Max's gaze was very tender as well as very keen, and he read more there than the man whom she loved, who had fancied he loved her, had ever done.

The dinner was very pleasant, and even Max, who was accustomed in his studio to rail at the refinements of social life, was by no means insensible to the serene sense of home and comfort he felt at Fainton Cottage, or the delicate grace of Evelyn's presence as she sat at the table, very fair in her clinging, softly sweeping Indian cashmere of dull fawn colour, made simply but without affectation, and with mellow-hued amber beads at her throat,

which changed all the dress to dull gold. So, too, he looked at her, as after dinner she sat near the lamp in the drawing-room, the shaded light falling brightly on her smooth head, bent a little over her work, as her hands moved quickly, tying deft knots in the Macrame lace, which was her occupation, and he thought what a fair centre she made to the warm, dim-coloured room, which expressed its mistress so well in its womanliness without feminity, and the reality without affectation of culture, as shown in its books and ornaments, and their result, rather than their arrangement.

A foreign letter arrived for Evelyn by the last post, and Max, seeing the thin flimsy envelope with the foreign stamp, knew instinctively from whom it came.

"Is that from the bride, Eve?" her father said, as she opened the letter.

"Yes, papa." Then she opened and read

it. "They are not coming back as soon as they expected," she said, after a little time.

'They are so enchanted with Cannes, that

they mean to stay on till the second week in November."

"And our ship leaves on the 30th of this month," said Mr. Goring. "I am sorry we shall miss them; I wanted to see Benedick-I mean Roland, the married man."

"I don't think the comparison is happy," growled Max. “Miss Anley doesn't seem

much like Beatrice."

"No, there is no fear of Roland's face being predestinate as a scratched one,” said Mr. Goring.

"And I never heard of Roland making any vows against marriage," said Breynton, drily. Then he remembered the meaning his words might bear to Evelyn, and hated himself as a brute who was always saying the wrong thing,

She looked up loyally and simply, and there was some spirit in her voice as she answered, "No; Roland never was affected in anything, in that way. I don't think fine natures ever are."

"That is rather sweeping," rejoined her father. "Isn't there some sea beastie, as the Scotch would call it, who has a very tender unprotected skin, and to save itself from hurt, attaches to itself stones, seaweed, sticks, etc., till it has formed a crust round itself which nothing can penetrate?"

"It must make itself very hard and

ugly," said Evelyn, "and no kindness could touch it through the crust any more than cruelty would. And then, too, the sharp edges of the stones might hurt other people, who did not intend anything but good to it. I think to shut up your real self behind a false hard one is deceitful and cowardly."

"You needn't be so decided, childie," said her father. "Which are you pitching into, me or Mr. Breynton?"

"Neither," said Evelyn, with a little laugh at her own energy.

Nor had she applied her words to herself; but Max did, and they gave him a key to her conduct she herself lacked.

"I think you are right," he said. "It is a fault one is apt to fall into; but there is such a thing as wearing one's heart on one's sleeve. Don't you think that is

worse?"

"Yes, because it comes from vanity instead of shyness," said Evelyn, with a quick flash of a smile.

"And shamelessness," said her father. "In women, at least.”

"Don't you think it may be weakness only?" said Evelyn, rather pleadingly. It touched Max to hear her so strong in