334 ^-^^^ Real Charlotte. 



these things had mingled themselves easily into her every- 

 day enjoyment of life, as amusing and not unpleasant 

 elements ; now she promised herself that, no matter what 

 Roddy said, this was the last time she would come to lunch 

 with Charlotte. 



Roddy was very good to her and all that, but there was 

 nothing new about him either, and marriage was an awful 

 humdrum thing after all. She looked back with something 

 of regret to the crowded drudging household at Albatross 

 Villa ; she had at least had something to do there, and she 

 had not been lonely ; she often found herself very lonely at 

 Rosemount. Before she reached the house she decided 

 that she would ask Ida Fitzpatrick down to stay with her 

 next month, and give her her return ticket, and a summer 

 dress, and a new — Her thoughts came to a startling full stop, 

 as round the corner of the house, she found herself face to 

 face with Mr. Hawkins. 



She had quite made up her mind that when she next 

 saw him she would merely bow to him, but she had not 

 reckoned on the necessities of such an encounter as this, 

 and before she had time to collect herself she was shaking 

 hands with him and listening to his explanation of what had 

 brought him there. 



" I met Miss Mullen after church yesterday," he said 

 awkwardly, "and she asked me to come over this afternoon. 

 I was just going out to look for her." 



" Oh, really," said Francie, moving on towards the hall 

 door ; " she and Mr. Lambert are off in those fields there." 



Hawkins stood looking irresolutely at her as she walked 

 up to the open door that in Miss Duffy's time had been 

 barricaded against all comers. She went in as unswervingly 

 as if she had already forgotten his existence, and then 

 yielding, according to his custom, to impulse, he followed 

 her. 



She had already taken up a book, and was seated in a 

 chair by the window when he came in, and she did not even 

 lift her eyes at his entrance. He went over to the polished 

 centre table, and, opening a photograph book, turned over 

 a few of the leaves noisily. There was a pause, tense on 

 both sides as silence and self-consciousness could make it, 

 and broken only by the happy, persistent call of the cuckoo 



