He had recently come in for an unexpected windfall--a legacy of four hundred a year--he could afford to marry and live quietly; his rapid brain sketched the programme in a flash, and arranged the details of his plans with calm celerity; her three hundred pounds would buy the trousseau, etc., and he would take her to the hills for the honeymoon; they would go to Cashmere. With Verona in Cashmere! Ah, but would Verona come? He would have a good try, at any rate! "This is a capital little station," he remarked, with a swoop to mundane matters. "At any rate, it seems to have made an immense impression on you," she rejoined, with a smile; "this is the second time you have praised it within five minutes!" "Yes, so it is. I think after the races I shall stop on--I have some leave due, I should like to put it in here." "And have some duck-shooting?" "No--I was--thinking of golf with you--there are links, I know----" "Oh, but I never play now." "Then you must begin, again--it's splendid exercise. Do you remember you started me at golf, and I'm now quite a respectable performer. I wonder," suddenly lowering his voice, "if you remember--something else?" They were standing close to the railings which enclosed the course. Verona looked at him with a hot colour in her face. "That I called you my Princess--you are my Princess still----" "Haig, Haig!" shouted a man, running up; "what the devil--oh, I beg pardon"--glancing at the lady--"you are wanted in the weighing-room at once--come on!" "The horses will be going down to the post," he said, turning to his companion; "allow me to take you back to your seat." "No thanks," she rejoined quickly. "I know you are in a great hurry. It is only a few steps. Please do go." "Well, I shall find you again when the race is over. Wish me luck," and lifting his cap he ran off.