"And," continued Charlie, "she wrote and said it must be good-by and--and----" "And you think she----?" "She told me so," whispered Charlie. "She said she couldn't part without telling me. Oh, I say, Miss Bellairs, isn't it all damnable? I beg your pardon." Dora was tracing little figures on the gravel with her parasol. "Now what would you do?" cried Charlie. "She loves me, I know she does, and she's going to marry this other fellow because she promised him first. I don't suppose she knew what love was then." "Oh, I'm sure she didn't," exclaimed Dora earnestly. "You can't blame her, you know. And it's absurd to--to--to--not to--well, to marry a fellow you don't care for when you care for another fellow, you know!" "Yes." "Of course you can hardly imagine yourself in that position, but suppose a man liked you and-and was placed like that, you know, what should you feel you ought to do?" "Oh, I don't know," exclaimed Dora, clasping her hands. "Oh, do tell me what you think! I'd give the world to know!" Charlie's surprised glance warned her of her betrayal. "You mustn't ask me." she exclaimed hastily. "I won't ask a word. I--I'm awfully sorry, Miss Bellairs." "Nobody knows," she murmured. "Nobody shall through me." "You're not very--? I'm very ashamed." "Why? And because of me! After what I've told you!" Charlie rose suddenly. "I'm not going to stand it," he announced. Dora looked up eagerly. "What? You're going to----?" "I'm going to have a shot at it. Am I to stand by and see her----? I'm hanged if I do. Could that be right?" "I should like to know what one's _duty_ is?" "This talk with you has made me quite clear. We've reasoned it out, you see. They're not to be married for two or three months. A lot can be done in that time." "Ah, you're a man!" "I shall write first. If that doesn't do, I shall go to her." Dora shook her head mournfully. "Now, look here, Miss Bellairs you don't mind me advising you?" "I ought not to have let you see, but as it is--" "You do as I do, you stick to it. Confound it, you know, when one's life's happiness is at stake--" "Oh, yes, yes!" "One mustn't be squeamish, must one?" And Dora Bellairs, in a very low whisper, answered, "No." "I shall write to-night." "Oh! To-night?" "Yes. Now promise me you will too." "It's harder for me than you." "Not if he really----." "Oh, indeed, he really does, Mr. Ellerton." "Then you'll write?" "Perhaps." "No. Promise!" "Well--it must be right. Yes, I will." "I feel the better for our talk, Miss Bellairs, don't you?" "I do a little." "We shall be friends now, you know; even if I bring it off I shan't be content unless you do too. Won't you give me your good wishes?" "Indeed I will." "Shake hands on it." They shook hands and began to stroll back to the tennis-courts. "They look a little better," observed Sir Roger Deane, who had been listening to an eloquent description of the gaming-tables.