Was an interest in him growing in her heart unknown to herself--one beyond the wish that she and Ellinor had such a brother? It almost seemed so, for she felt altered in some way, but in what way she knew not, though the present and the future became curiously mingled in her thoughts, as they were just then in those of Ellinor. Sleath was fast winning the fancy of the latter, if not her heart. She had been content with the love of Robert Wodrow and the prospect of a future with him; she thought now how different it would be to become the wife of a man who would give her rank, position, wealth, and she thought the time and 'the prince' had now come. Yet with all this it was strange that her heart never thrilled at his voice or approach, nor did her pulses quicken at the touch of his hand, as they had often done at the honest clasp of Robert Wodrow. 'Why was this?' she asked of herself. 'You are very silent, Colville,' observed Sleath, as they walked homeward together cigar in mouth. 'There is something in that girl's face which seems familiar to me, as if I had foreshadowed it in some dream!' exclaimed Colville. '_Which_ girl's face?' asked Sleath, sharply. 'Mary's--Miss Wellwood,' replied Colville, colouring with annoyance at having been betrayed into confidence with a man he disliked. 'Stuff,' said Sir Redmond; 'as if people foreshadowed faces in the Row or Regent Street! What would the fair Blanche think of this idea? And what a cock-and-bull yarn that was about the "gracious Duncan" and the miller's daughter.' 'Why doubt it?--the story is a pretty one, any way,' said Colville, with annoyance in his tone. 'Let us skip Mary--it is her sister I admire.' 'Your demeanour to that young lady is rather strange, Sir Redmond,' said Colville, with a gravity of manner and eye that did not fail to strike his listener. 'Strange--how?' 'A very short intimacy seems to have placed you on rather friendly terms.' 'Rather,' replied Sir Redmond, tugging at the end of his moustachios, with a very self-satisfied smile on his _blasé_ face. 'She is an unsophisticated kind of Jeanie Deans, or Effie rather, whom one may flirt with, patronise, or quarrel with and make it up again; treating her with any amount of chic when so inclined, and----' Whatever in his profound vanity or spirit of insolence Sir Redmond was about to add, he paused. There was a dark, stern, and indignant expression in the face of Leslie Colville that there was no misunderstanding just then. 'Hey--how--what the deyvil--are you smitten in that quarter too?' asked Sleath. 'No--what do you mean?' 'Thought you were, perhaps, that's all,' was the somewhat sulky response. 'I am not what you think,' replied Colville, quietly. 'I only warn you to adopt a different tone in reference to these young ladies, and to take care what you are about!'