"That is just possible," said Angus, smiling, as he thought how closely his divinity was guarded. "The chaperons of the present day are very easy-going people--or, perhaps I ought to say, that the young ladies of the present day have a certain Yankee go-a-headishness which very much lightens the chaperon's responsibility. In point of fact, the London chaperon has dwindled into a formula, and no doubt she will soon be improved off the face of society." "So much the worse for society," answered the lady of the old school. And then she continued, with a friendly air,-- "I dare say you know that I have a house in Bolton Row. I have not lived in it since my husband's death--but it is mine, and I can have it made comfortable between this and the early spring. I have been thinking that it would be better for you and Christabel to be married in London. The law business would be easier settled--and you may have relations and friends who would like to be at your wedding, yet who would hardly care to come to Boscastle." "It _is_ a long way," admitted Angus. "And people are so inconsistent. They think nothing of going to the Engadine, yet grumble consumedly at a journey of a dozen hours in their native land--as if England were not worth the exertion." "Then I think we are agreed that London is the best place for the wedding," said Mrs. Tregonell. "I am perfectly content. But if you suggested Timbuctoo I should be just as happy." This being settled, Mrs. Tregonell wrote at once to her agent, with instructions to set the old house in Bolton Row in order for the season immediately after Easter, and Christabel and her lover had to reconcile their minds to the idea of a long dreary winter of severance. Miss Courtenay had grown curiously grave and thoughtful since her engagement--a change which Jessie, who watched her closely, observed with some surprise. It seemed as if she had passed from girlhood into womanhood in the hour in which she pledged herself to Angus Hamleigh. She had for ever done with the thoughtless gaiety of youth that knows not care. She had taken upon herself the burden of an anxious, self-sacrificing love. To no one had she spoken of her lover's precarious hold upon life; but the thought of by how frail a tenure she held her happiness was ever present with her. "How can I be good enough to him?--how can I do enough to make his life happy?" she thought, "when it may be for so short a time."