Althea's youth had been a very happy one, until the day when she and Everard Ward had gathered peaches together in the walled garden at Kitlands, and then it had seemed to her as though they were the very apples of Sodom--mere dust and ashes. Everard had judged his own case far too leniently; he had been eager to clear himself from blame. "A young fellow has his fancies before he settles down finally," he would say, in his careless way. "Oh, yes, you are right, Egerton. I was sweet on Althea Harford--there was something fascinating about her; she was rather fetching and picturesque--you know what I mean. But Dorothy--well, it was love at first sight, the real thing and no mistake. I wanted to ask her to marry me that very first evening, only I could not do it, you know." "I suppose not," returned his friend, dryly. "You are a cool hand, Everard, upon my word. I wonder what Miss Harford thought about it all. Perhaps I am a bit old-fashioned, but in my day we did not think it good form to pay court to one girl and marry another." But this plain speaking only offended Everard, probably because in his inner consciousness he knew the older man had spoken the truth. Through the sweet spring days and the glorious months of summer Everard Ward had wooed the young heiress with the eager persistence that was natural to him. Althea's fascinating personality, her gentleness and bright intelligence, all dominated the young man, and for a time at least he honestly believed himself in love with her. He was not fickle by nature, and if Dorothy Sinclair had not crossed his path, and played Rosalind to his Orlando, in the green glades of Kitlands Park, he would to a certainty have married Althea Harford. Hearts do not break, they say; but when Althea walked down the terrace steps that day, with her basket of peaches on her arm, she knew that the gladness and sweetness of her young life had faded, and that, if her heart were not actually broken, it was only because her unselfishness and sense of right forbade such wreckage. "I shall live through it, Dorrie," she had said to her sister, in those early days of misery, "and, God helping me, it shall not make me bitter; but it has robbed me of my youth. One cannot suffer in this way, and keep young;" and she was right. "If you could only hate him!" ejaculated Doreen. "In your circumstances I know I should loathe and despise him." But Althea only shook her head. "How could I hate him, when I have grown to love him with my whole heart, when I have regarded myself as his." But here she stopped and hid her face in her hands, with a choking sob. "Oh, Dorrie, that is the worst of all, that I should have believed it, and that he never meant it; that he never really loved me." "I think he was very fond of you, Althea," returned Doreen, eagerly. "Mother was saying so only last night."