Betty gazed at him dumbly, and there came to her at that moment, for the first time in her life, a realisation of the deep, abiding love which sees beneath the surface, and knows neither change nor time. She had no inclination to laugh at the old man's blindness; rather she felt towards him reverence and admiration. Happy Miss Beveridge! To one loyal heart at least she would remain always young, always beautiful. Happy Terence Digby, who had kept his ideal untouched! When Betty retraced her steps to the drawing-room a few minutes later, another surprise was in waiting, for behold, Miss Beveridge sobbing, with her hands over her face, while Mrs Trevor patted her tenderly on the shoulder. She looked across the room and shook her head at her young daughter. "Go away, Betty dear, please! Leave us alone," she said gently, and Betty tottered across the hall and collapsed in a heap on the nearest chair, positively faint with excitement. The first real romance with which she had come in contact,--and behold! The leading characters were General Digby and Miss Beveridge! Wonders would never cease! The next afternoon the General appeared once more, and had a long _tete- a-tete_ with Mrs Trevor. "I am sorry to be such a trouble to you, madam, but you have no one to blame but yourself, for you have been so patient and forbearing with me during the last six months, that I feel as if there were no limits to your kindness. I went to that Governesses' Home to-day--for that matter I passed it half a dozen times, but I could not screw up my courage to do any more. The look of the place daunted me, to begin with. To think of Alice Beveridge shut up there! Besides, I'm a soldier; my life has been spent among men; I haven't the pluck to face a houseful of women. Be a good angel, and let us meet here once more! I was too much overcome yesterday to know what I was saying, but something must be done, and done quickly. I can't go on living as I am, and think of her working for her living. Of course, you know what it all means. You are a woman, and women are quick enough at guessing these things. I never cared for another woman. I was a middle-aged man when we met, and it went very hard with me when she said Number 1 was not a boy, to forget at the sight of the next pretty face. I have tried to make the best of things, but it's been lonely work. I went abroad immediately after she refused me, and heard no more about her. She was visiting a common friend when we met. I knew nothing of her family, so we simply passed out of each other's lives. I always thought of her as happily married years ago; it never dawned upon me that there could have been any misunderstanding, but yesterday when we met there was something in her face, her manner-- She seemed almost as much agitated as I was myself. I may be a conceited old idiot, but it seemed to me as if she _had_ cared after all,--as if there had been some mistake! Women talk to each