'You are the last man, Tony, in whom I would confide concerning the fair widow,' said Jerry, angrily; 'but there goes the bugle for parade, and, by Jove, our fellows are falling in!' 'When her hair is grey--if it ever becomes grey--and all her youth is gone, that woman will still be beautiful,' exclaimed Dalton, with enthusiasm. Mrs. Trelawney was wont to drive over every other day when the weather was fine and take Alison--she knew the lonely life the girl led--away with her to afternoon tea, to lawn tennis at the Vicarage or elsewhere, or drive by Farnborough and Aldershot Camp. And, with reference to future points in our story, we may add that this sprightly lady resided at Chilcote Grange, a pretty modern villa about a mile distant from the mansion of Sir Ranald, whither she had recently come after a long sojourn abroad, or in the Channel Islands, as some said, for no one knew precisely about her antecedents. Notwithstanding all her real, or pretended, aversion to matrimony, and love of that freedom which the demise of 'the late lamented Trelawney' seemed to have given her, the handsome widow, by more than one mutual invitation to her 'afternoon teas,' &c., unknown to Sir Ranald and Lord Cadbury, gave Bevil Goring an opportunity of meeting Alison Cheyne which he might not have otherwise enjoyed. Alison had read of love and thought of it (as what young girl does not?), and Bevil Goring seemed to her the beau-ideal of all she had pictured in her imagination a lover or a husband ought to be. True it is, this idea might be born of his undoubted fancy for herself, and the impulsive nature of Alison forbade her to love or do anything else by halves. Already she thought of him and spoke of him to herself as 'Bevil,' and then paused and blushed at the conviction that she did so. But then was not the name a quaint and strange one? Dalton had called at Chilcote Grange and left his card; the widow was from home, and, as he did not leave the gift he had promised her little daughter, she smiled, as she well knew that he meant to call again. 'Laura,' said Alison, as she saw the card, 'I am certain that Captain Dalton admires you--Nay, loves you, from what Bevil, I mean Captain Goring, tells me. He talks of you incessantly.' 'Yet he has only seen me once or twice.' 'Quite enough to achieve that end.' 'How, child?' 'You are so very beautiful,' said Alison, patting the widow's cheek playfully. 'How strange that you should say so!' 'Why strange?' 'I mean that one woman should so much admire another. Had you been a man it might be natural enough, and understandable too.' 'But why not a woman?' persisted Alison. 'Women are often too petty--too jealous generally of each other; but you are a dear pet, Alison, and admire those whom you love. As for Dalton, he has seen so little of me--here at least.' 'What! has he met you _elsewhere_?' asked Alison, quickly. 'No; I have not said so,' replied Mrs. Trelawney, colouring deeply for a moment.