better for them both, for he knew it was the most imprudent of all possible attachments, but yet it had been her frankness and girlish simplicity that had so much won upon his heart. His apparent disappointment at her more distant manner awoke a delightful though agitated consciousness that her aunt had been mistaken, and that he really loved her; her old fascination returned, and one day out of doors, with a clear frosty sky above and a carpet of snow under their feet, her desire to know that she really held a high place in his regard led him on so far as to confess that he loved her.
How differently this declaration was received from that of John Derrick! How quickly it was apprehended, and even in spite of the miserableness of her pre-engagement, how proud she felt for the love of such a man!
It could not be accepted—of course not—"I am already engaged," she faltered out.
Gerald Staunton's countenance changed. He was horror-struck at her heartless conduct in leading him on to make a rash and mad proposal, while all the time she had no intention or power of returning his affection.
"Forgive me, Lady Eveline, my presumptuous folly," he said coldly. "If I had known of this before, I should have been saved a great deal of
