'How sweet it is to watch young lovers! I was right, you see.' Mary felt something closely akin to pique and pain, and resolved to be upon her guard, while Mrs. Wodrow was, woman-like, appraising the cost of Lady Dunkeld's dress--'The best Lyons purple--must have cost a guinea a yard.' 'Captain Colville has been in love, or fancied himself so, a great many times, I hear,' resumed gossipy Mrs. Wodrow, 'but never got the length of being engaged until lately, I believe.' 'Then he _is_ her _fiancé_,' thought Mary; 'but what matters it?' Sooth to say, it was for her behoof, perhaps, that Mrs. Wodrow pressed these hints upon her. 'Come with me, Miss Wellwood,' said Captain Colville, suddenly approaching her; 'permit me to show you some of the Grounds--the rosaries are indeed beautiful--after we have visited the refreshment marquee.' He lightly touched her hand, and--followed the while by a somewhat cloudy and inquiring glance from Blanche Galloway--she permitted herself to be led away from the terrace, and though resolved to be, as we have said, on her guard, and studiously indifferent, she could not help the increased beating of her heart, for the voice and eyes of Colville were very winning. From the refreshment marquee they wandered through the rosaries, round the shrubbery, and past the artificial pond, till they reached the skirts of the lawn, and the hum of the voices there, and even the music of the band, became faint, and conversing with her, she scarcely knew on what, he led her to a seat--a rustic sofa--under the trees that formed the boundary of the pleasure-grounds. 'Do you know that in the sunshine your hair is quite like gold, Miss Wellwood?' said he, gazing upon her with unmistakable admiration. 'I would it were real gold,' replied Mary, laughing. 'I would rather possess it as it is, and so would any man,' said Colville, while Mary cast a restless glance at the distant groups of gaily-dressed promenaders, as aught approaching tenderness just then alarmed and annoyed her. After a pause he said, 'Those scarlet berries do not become your complexion. They are suited to a dark beauty, not a fair one.' 'Ellinor pinned them in my collarette,' replied Mary, colouring now. 'Give me the berries, and I shall substitute _this_,' he urged, taking the little bouquet of stephenotis buds and ferns from his lapelle. 'Do exchange with me,' he added, softly and tenderly. 'But Miss Galloway--her gift to you--what will she think?' urged Mary, timidly. 'She will never notice the change; and if she does, what then?' Mary thought this strange and ungallant, but ere she could prevent him, his deft hands had quickly achieved the exchange, and her scarlet berries were in his button-hole. 'I cannot have you wear these, even if I wear your rosebuds. Give them back to me, please, Captain Colville.'