"It is a lovely story, Gwen," observed Althea; and then she rose from the table. A little later, when the gentlemen had had their coffee, they all went out on the terrace, and Waveney found herself pacing the garden paths with Mr. Chaytor. They talked on indifferent subjects--the beauty of the evening and the charm of a well-kept garden. And then they paused to listen to a nightingale in the shrubbery. Presently they sat down in the verandah at the Porch House, and watched the other couples passing to and fro below. Lord Ralston and Mollie, Gwen and Jack Compton, and Doreen and Tristram; the other three, Althea and Mr. Ward and Noel, had seated themselves on a bench outside the library window. The moon was rising behind the elms. Waveney's eyes were fixed on it, when Thorold suddenly broke the silence. "What did you think of the true story of Lady Betty?" he asked. There was something inexplicable in his tone. "I thought it beautiful," she returned; "though I did not cry over it as Mollie did. They were both so faithful; but Lady Betty was braver than Sir Bever." "What do you mean?" remonstrated her companion. "Surely it was better for him to ride away without telling his love. You do not agree with me"--looking in her face. "You think Sir Bever was wrong to be afraid of his poverty." "Yes, I think he was wrong," faltered Waveney. "I agree with Lady Betty, that he had sacrificed their youth to no purpose. You see, he gave her no chance of setting things right; he just rode away, and left her to bear her life as well as she could." "You are severe," returned Thorold, eagerly. "You do not make an allowance for a man's pride, that will not stoop to take everything from a woman. I grant you the story was pretty, and that Mrs. John Compton told it well; she has a charming voice and manner." "Oh, yes; and she is so nice. Mollie is quite fond of her already." "I do not wonder at it; but, Miss Ward, I want to convince you that you ladies are not the only ones who set us an example of faithfulness. Men may be proverbially fickle, but there are exceptions to the rule." "Oh, yes, of course." "It is difficult to judge in some cases. There was a friend of mine----" Here Thorold hesitated and glanced at the girl's averted face. Something in her attitude--the shy droop of the head, the hands clasped so tightly on her white gown--excited him and quickened his pulses. There was a tremor in his voice as he went on. "My friend was deeply in love with a girl. She was very young. He was much older, and weighted with many cares and responsibilities, and he was poor--oh, far too poor to take a wife." Again he paused, but Waveney made no comment, only her hands were clasped more nervously.