“By Jove! I wish the affair were coming off to-morrow,” mused Avondale, as he knocked the ashes from his brier-root pipe and refilled and lighted it afresh. “Those beastly hot winds have left the landscape deucedly barren. The recent rains brightened it up a bit; otherwise it would be unendurable. It’s a blooming country, I must say. This little lake and woods surrounding Ethel’s home are about the only sights worth seeing.” He laughed a little, and repeated the name of Ethel. “It sounds odd, quite odd,—and yet—” He did not audibly finish the sentence, but went on walking and smoking in a most self-satisfied way. Ethel was in a listless mood. Her betrothal to Lord Avondale, however, while far from her own wish of making, was gradually becoming less terrible to contemplate. After all, it would be a change, and what did it matter? Jack had long ago forgotten her, while Hugh had deserted her at the first test. In the meantime, a rather animated conversation was going on in the parlors below, between Ethel’s mother and Lucy Osborn. “There is another matter,” Mrs. Osborn was saying, “that is unfortunate, to say the least. It has disturbed me quite a little.” “Nothing serious, I hope,” exclaimed Mrs. Horton, as she looked anxiously into the pretty face opposite her. “Not necessarily serious, but very annoying,” replied Mrs. Osborn. “Now, don’t let it worry you, Mrs. Horton, but Doctor Redfield is in Meade.” “Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Horton, in great astonishment. “Yes, I saw him last evening while driving with Lord Avondale. He was walking down the street with Mr. Stanton. It is rather deplorable that he should have turned up just at this time. There is no mistaking his broad shoulders and blond mustache.”