for his jacket, and his meed of praise, she had rewarded him in her own impulsive fashion—she kissed him then and there before all the boys in Earlsmead village. It was an unseemly and indecent spectacle in the eyes of Mrs. Grundy (who lived over the Post Office), Miss Craven-Hargreaves, of the Park, acting as backer in a street fight, and awarding as prize her kisses. It was true that she was but eight years of age and her champion eleven, and consequently the misdemeanour was suffered to pass. Some said she was a fine courageous little miss; others, that she was a bold piece, who would come to no good yet, but all agreed that she had plenty of pluck, and would sooner or later marry the General's boy. * * * * * When Lola was seventeen—and oh! what a fascinating sweet seventeen—Philip found his tongue, and they became engaged. Contemporary matrons lifted their hands in horror. A lad of twenty, who had only just left Sandhurst! But other far-seeing and less ambitious individuals pointed out that young Gascoigne was a fairly good match, he must succeed to at least a thousand a year, and expectations, whilst the Hargreaves might expect the bailiffs at any moment. Within the next twelve months Philip lost his mother—whom he worshipped; even Lola had not disturbed her from her niche—and the long impending crash came at the Park. Mr. Hargreaves fled with a portmanteau to the south of France—his plea was health—and left his wife to face the storm alone. The storm developed into a typhoon, a tempest of howling creditors; mortgages were foreclosed, the park was let to graziers, and, as a final climax, there was a sale—an auction, at the house itself. The family pictures, portraits by Gainsborough, Raeburn, and Romney, went to the highest bidder. The treasured silver and tapestries, as well as carriage and horses, were scattered far and wide. After a storm—a calm—the Hargreaves boys obtained commissions, the Park had found a tenant, Mrs. Hargreaves and Lola went abroad, and Philip Gascoigne, now a full-blown sapper, was despatched to Gibraltar. He and Lola corresponded faithfully. They were to be married when he was four-and-twenty, and already he was collecting rugs, Moorish trays, and old carpets suitable for a lady's drawing-room, when he received a letter from Lola to say that her father was once more in difficulties, _frightful_ difficulties; he had been gambling on the Stock Exchange, hoping to recoup his fortune, and had had every penny of his own (as well as other people's pennies) swept away. Philip wired to place all his available funds at Lola's disposal; but what was a mere five thousand pounds, when the deficit amounted to ten times the sum? Mr. Hargreaves did everything on a grand scale. He was a born gambler, it was hereditary; his grandfather had once lost thirty thousand pounds, after playing two nights and a day, and sitting up to his knees in cards.