helping to opportunities of success, of artists who were struggling against unmerited neglect. Reading had filled her mind with images of such a world; was it not better than that dull sphere which styled itself exclusive?.... When at length Mrs. Clarendon left Knightswell to go to the Strattons, Ada promised herself that any morning might bring a definite proposal of a day for her wedding. With difficulty she restrained herself from asking when it was to be. She had put aside every doubt, every fear, every regret; her life burned towards that day which would complete her purpose. And now.... “But we must see each other oftener,” Lacour was saying. “If Mrs. Clarendon will welcome me-------” She interrupted him harshly. “Is Mrs. Clarendon the only person you consult henceforth?” “My dear Ada, you mustn’t misunderstand a mere form of politeness.” “Such forms have always been disagreeable to me.” She rose and moved to the fire-place. Lacour watched her from under his eyebrows. It grew more and more evident how strong was his hold upon her; he asked himself whether a little innocent quarrel might not best serve his ends. “I am wearying you,” he said, rising. She could not let him go without plain question and answer; it seemed to her that she had reached the limit of endurance, that her strength would fail under the trial of another hour. Yet her lips would form no word. “In what have I displeased you, Ada?” Vincent inquired, with an air of much surprise. “Clearly I have done so. Pray tell me what I have said or done.” She turned from the fire and faced him. “When is it your intention for our marriage to take place?” Lacour was suspicious again. This astounding eagerness must be the result of some information she had received; she dreaded to lose him. Did not her desire about the settlement somehow depend upon the same cause? “Surely I have no interest in putting it off,” he said, his head a little on one side, his most delicate smile in full play. “But you think it had better not be before the summer?” “Is not that best? I have no will but yours, Ada.” “I think,” she replied slowly, “that it shall be, not this summer, but the summer of next year.” “A year and a half still? For whatever reason?” he cried. “I shall come of age then,” she continued, looking past him with vague eyes. “I need consult no one then about my wishes.” “My dear Ada, you surely do not think I hesitated----” “No,” she said firmly, “but it will be better. Have I your consent to this?” He walked away a few steps, desperately puzzled, exasperated, by the necessity of answering yes or no, when more than he could imagine might depend upon the choice. “This is a joke, Ada!” he said, coming back with disturbed countenance. “Nothing less. I ask you to postpone our marriage till I am twenty-one.”