Mr. Dempster bored his nose into the uncovered bark, studied it from several points of view, bending and curvetting and bridling with as much ado as if he had been an antiquary in presence of a newly-discovered inscription. '"M C, F H,"' he said at length; 'inside a heart--very pretty and--ah--suggestive; but--commonplace.' Mr. Dempster's pauses, however arbitrary, were impressive. 'Do you know whose these initials are?' Miss Jane asked. 'I haven't the remotest idea.' '"M C," Muriel Chartres; "F H," Frank Hay.' 'Ah!' Dempster leant against an arm of the tree and regarded Miss Jane blankly. He had arrived from Edinburgh that day at her summons, to meet Mr. Chartres, who was expected in the afternoon, and to prosecute his suit for the hand of Muriel. This was a dash of cold water right in his face. He hadn't a word to say, and scarcely any breath to say one. 'You know Mr. Hay,' Miss Jane said. 'You remember, William used to patronise him.' 'The foundling! Why, the fellow hasn't a penny!' exclaimed Dempster. 'Ah, Mr. Dempster,' said Miss Jane more sweetly than her wont, 'presumption is poverty's next door neighbour, wealth and modesty often go hand in hand.' Dempster at once applied this aphoristic compliment to himself, as he was intended to do; but he horrified Miss Jane by bowing emphatically in acknowledgment, and he outraged her further by endeavouring to pay her back in kind: 'A thorough acquaintance with the world generally accompanies the single life.' That was his period, and he imagined he had acquitted himself fairly well. But dissatisfaction lowered in Miss Jane's brow. He proceeded with stammering haste to mend matters: 'Especially the single female--eh--ah----' An angry flush drew him up. Still, he went at it again headlong, smiling too, and in as suave a tone as he could command: 'Wisdom is an old maid--I mean--Minerva was unmarried.'