"And he will not consent even to an engagement until you are eighteen, Enid. But he did not forbid me to speak to you and ask you whether you cared for me, and if you would wait two years." "Oh, why should it be so long?" the girl cried out; and then she turned crimson, seeing the meaning that Hubert attached to her words. "I only mean," she said, "that I wanted to tell you everything that was in my mind just now." "And can't you do it now, little darling?" "No, not now." "I must wait for that, must I? We must see if we can soften the General's obdurate heart, my dear. But you are not unhappy now?" To his surprise, the shadow rose again in her beautiful eyes, the lips fell into their old mournful lines. "I don't know," she said sadly. "I ought not to be; but after all perhaps this does not make things any better. Oh, I wish I could forget what I know--what I have heard!" "It is about Flossy?" said Hubert, in a whisper. She hid her face, upon his shoulder without a word. "My poor child, I am half inclined to think that I can guess. I know that Flossy's life has not been all that it should have been. No, don't tell me--I will not ask you again unless you wish to confide in me." "You said you did not know." "I do not know--exactly; but I suspect; and, my dear Enid, we can do nothing. Make your mind easy on that point. Our highest duty now is to hold our tongues." He thought, naturally enough, that she had heard of Florence's secret interviews with Sydney Vane--so much, he was certain, even the village-people knew--that in her visits to the cottages she had heard some story of this kind, and had been distressed--that was all. "Do you really think so?" said Enid, clinging to him. She was only too thankful to get rid of the responsibility of judging for herself. "You do not think that uncle Richard ought to know?" "My dear girl, what an idea! Certainly not! Do you want to break the old man's heart?" "He is very fond of little Dick," murmured Enid, rather to herself than to him. He did not lay hold of the clue that her words might have given him if he had attended to them more closely. He went on encouragingly-- "And of his wife too. No, dear, we cannot wreck his happiness by scruples of that kind. We must endure our knowledge--or our suspicions--in silence. Besides, what you have heard may not be true." "Do you think so, Hubert?" she said wistfully. "It is better surely to take a charitable view, is it not?" "Oh, thank you! That is just what I wanted!" she said, a new brightness stealing into her eyes and cheeks. "Yes, I am sure that I must have been hard and uncharitable. I will try to think better things. And, oh, Hubert, you have really made me happy now!" "That is what I wanted," said Hubert, with a sigh, as for the first time he pressed his lips to hers. "Your happiness, Enid, is all that I wish to secure."