Ellen coloured vividly. Eminently truthful, she yet did not dare to say that perhaps that was _not_ Captain Bohun's reason for being attentive. How could she hint at Captain Bohun's love, clear though it was to her own heart, when he had never spoken a syllable to her about it? It was not possible. So things went on in the same routine: he and she wandering together on the sea-shore: both of them living in a dream of Elysium. In February, when they returned home, the scene was changed, but not the companionship. It was an early spring that year, warm and genial. Many and many an hour were they together in that seductive garden of Mrs. Cumberland's, with its miniature rocks, its velvety grass; the birds sang and their own hearts danced for joy. But Mrs. Cumberland's eyes were not to be always closed. It was not to be expected that so lovely a girl as Ellen Adair should remain long without a declared suitor. Especially when there was a rumour that she would inherit a fortune--though how the latter arose people would have been puzzled to say. A gentleman of position in the neighbourhood; no other than Mr. Graves, son of one of the county members; began to make rather pointed visits at Mrs. Cumberland's. That his object was Ellen Adair, and that he would most likely ask her to become his wife, Mrs. Cumberland clearly saw. She wrote to Mr. Adair in Australia, telling him she thought Ellen was about to receive an offer of marriage, in every way eligible. The young man was of high character, good family, and large means, she said: should she, if the proposal came, accept it for Ellen. By a singular omission, which perhaps Mrs. Cumberland was not conscious of, she did not mention Mr. Graves's name. But the proposal came sooner than Mrs. Cumberland had bargained for: barely was this letter despatched--about which, with her usual reticence, she said not a word to any one--when Mr. Graves proposed to Ellen and was refused.