But somehow the reading was not successful, her voice was husky and uncertain, and her inattention so obvious that it soon became infectious, and Mr. Carteret found the effort of listening beyond him. An unusually prolonged and unmistakable yawn, for which he hastened to apologise, made the fact evident to Margaret. "I think we are both disinclined for reading to-night, papa," she said as she laid aside her book, and took a low seat by her father's side. "We will talk now for a while." "Very well, my dear," said the acquiescent Mr. Carteret. But Margaret did not seem inclined to follow up her own proposition actively. She sat still, dreamily silent, and her fingers played idly with the fringe which bordered the chintz cover of her father's chair. At length she said: "Papa, what do you think of Mr. Baldwin?" "What do I think of Mr. Baldwin, my dear?" repeated Mr. Carteret slowly. "I think very highly of him indeed: a most accomplished young man I consider him, and excessively obliging, I'm sure. I don't flatter myself, you know, Margaret, with any notion that I am a particularly delightful companion for any one; indeed, since our great loss, I am best alone I think, or with you--with you, my dear," and her father patted Margaret's head just as he had been used to pat it when she was a little child; "and still, he seems to like being with me, and takes the greatest interest in my collection. Excessively liberal he is, too, and I can assure you very few collectors, however rich they may be, are _that_. He has shared his magnificent specimens of lepidoptera with me, and I have not another friend in the world who would do that. Think of him?" said Mr. Carteret again, returning to Margaret's question. "I think most highly of him. But why do you ask me? Don't you think well of him yourself?" Margaret looked up hastily, dropped her eyes again, and said: "O yes, papa; I--I do, indeed; but I wanted to ask you, because----" A quick tapping at the window interrupted her. Haldane stood outside, and his sister left her seat and went to him. "Come out for a walk, Madge," he said. "James is queer this evening, and says he will just give the governor half-an-hour, and then go to bed. You don't want them both, do you, sir?" Haldane asked the question with his head inside, and his body outside the window. "I thought not. Here's James now." At that moment Mr. Dugdale entered the room. "Come on; you can get your bonnet and shawl; the door is open." Margaret had not turned her face from the window, and she now stepped out into the verandah. She had not seen the expression on James Dugdale's face. Instinct caused her to avoid him. She had not yet faced the subject in her own mind, she had not yet reckoned with herself about it. "Has she written to him? Is he coming here? How is it?"