1897. 



THE AMERlCAy DEE KEEPER. 



309 



That eveniug Mrs, Granton was the 

 first to come dowu from dressing, and 

 she strolled out ou to the terrace. The 

 sun, setting behind her, shone upon the 

 doorued woods. Gold steeped them. Tho 

 shorn hill would be an eyesore. 



She heard a step on the gravel, and 

 saw Aylmer approaching from the 

 house. 



"Ihe prettiest view in England," she 

 said. 



He came and stood beside her, and 

 the eyes of each were ou the woods. 



"I am toJd you are goiug to spoil it," 

 she said then. 



"For a time." 



"A lifetime." 



The lady's gaze ascended the hill to 

 the top, where the trees stood up against 

 the sky. 



"It seems a pity," she said, and said 

 no more just then. 



The gong .sounded presently, and they 

 went in. You could see the shining hill 

 from the windows of the dining room. 

 Midway through dinner, as the evening 

 closed in, a servant went to draw the 

 curtains. Airs. Granton faced the win- 

 dow. 



"Oh," she said to Lady Aylmer, 

 "might he wait a little? It is all so 

 beautiful from where 1 sit." 



Lad}' Aylmer turned and looked, and 

 Aylmer looked too. In truth, the scene 

 was too fair to shut out. 



"Leave the curtains as they are, 

 Charles." 



"Very good, my lady." 



So Mrs. Granton saw the woods to 

 the disappearing point of dusk. 



But later the moon rose. Aylmer and 



she found themselves upon the terrace 

 once more. The night was warm. Mrs. 

 Grautou's eyes were ou the woods. Their 

 changed aspect in the moonlight was 

 excuse itself for any comment. 



"Must you?" she a.«ked suddenly. 



He looked for her meaning. 



"I!" he said. "I! It is not L" 



"Who then? Ah, yes. I understand. 

 They are mortgaged." 



Foreclosure was a word she associat- 

 ed with peor plays. Such things hap- 

 penec then! She remembered the two 

 men with the businesslike air and the 

 notebooks. 



She laid her arm on the stone ledge 

 of the balustrade. 



"There must be a way out, " she said. 



"If I could find it." 



An hour or two later, when she took 

 her candle from his hand, she said: 



"Look for the way out." 



She sniileri, and he followed her with 

 his eyes as she mounted the stairs, her 

 skirts trailing and the candle held 

 high. She did not look back at the turn 

 in the staircase. Aylmer, in tho smoking 

 room, wa.s- ruminant. 



It was impossible to mistake her. 



Nor did he misunderstand. She said 

 "Yes" when he spoke the next day. 



Lady Aylmer said, "Diana, Diana, 

 dear woman, God bless you!" 



"Perhaps he will," said Diana. 



Now, in her drawing room, the 

 woods saved and his future mortgaged 

 instead, Aylmer took a rapid survey of 

 his life up to the point it had then 

 reached and decided that he had pursued 

 the only course open to him. Neither 

 did he in calmness repent the step he 

 had taken. Diana Granton had not her 

 money alone to recommend her. She 

 was of the world and admirably fitted 

 for the position he offered her. That 

 she was comely has been said, and she 

 took a sensible view of the situation. 

 He was not in love with her, and she 

 was wise ei ough to conceal from him 

 the secret that her own heart had been 

 revealing to her gradually for some 

 time past. 



At dinner that evening she looked at 

 him and knew that she loved him. He 

 looked at Diana and thought of forgot- 

 ten Audrey. 



It was the fault of the roses in the 

 drawing room. 



The scent of them haunted him — fol- 

 lowed him home. Poor little Audrey! 

 What would she think? But near as he 

 had come to loving her, he had never 

 made love to her and had nothing to 

 reproach himself with, for which now 

 he was fervently thankful. Yet he was 

 not quite happy as his hansom took him 

 to Clarges street. A memory of some- 

 thing that was wistful at times in Au- 

 drey's eyes stirred him. The thing was 

 absurd, inconceivable. Her mother, 

 gentle as she was, was a woman of the 

 world and had known that he "meant" 

 nothing. Audrey was a child to caress 

 and pet. It was he who had suffered at 

 the parting. Her tears were the frank, 

 tears of childhood and rolled down her 



