for their daughter, publicly boasting the time when Nancy should be my lady? And was not any way of putting an end to this fair and defensible? He had done nothing that it was not quite allowable to do. In this frame of mind he ate his luncheon, and decided to stay another night at Underhayes. It was rather hard, indeed, to know what to do with himself in the afternoon; but he hoped that perhaps Arthur might change his mind, might think it worth while to come to him and argue the point; and in any arguing of the point, Durant felt that he must be successful. Then he had a bundle of correspondence to get through. A busy man is often entirely thrown out of his mental gear by finding himself shut up in a bare parlour in an inn, without any of his habitual tools, without books or papers. But he had letters to write, which was always an occupation; and one of his letters was to Lady Curtis. Before he could do this, however, it was necessary that he should get paper; and the day was so mild, and the air so sweet, and the appearance of the little place so pleasant, that he went out with an agreeable sense that his business was not pressing, and that he might linger before coming in. As Durant went out of the inn, however, he was run against by some one coming in, in hot haste, and with every appearance of impatience and impetuosity. “I want to speak to a Mr. Durant that is staying here,” she said to the waiter; then, stopping short with a start, turned her attention to himself. “I think you are Mr. Durant,” she said. It was Nancy Bates in person. Though he had seen her but vaguely on the previous night, he recognised her now. Her hat looked as if it had been put on hurriedly, and a long lock of brown hair had dropped upon her shoulder. Durant could not but notice how long it was, and how soft and shining it looked--not golden or red, but shining, glossy brown. It caught his eye, even in the midst of the shock he experienced on hearing her ask for him. What did she want with him? He felt himself shrink in spirit, if not in outward appearance. Arthur he had been striving to save, his conscience was clear in that respect; but this young woman, what had his intention been so far as she was concerned? It was not to save her he had been trying, but to break her heart, if she happened to have one, and anyhow, heart or none, destroy her prospects, and steal away her supposed good fortune. Therefore, he could not help it, he shrank a little from Nancy; and there was a haste and hostile energy in her looks which added to this feeling. He answered, almost in a tone of deprecation, “Yes, that is my name; and I think it is Miss Bates?” “Anna Bates,” she said, with a little elevation of her head, as if the name she pronounced had been one of imposing importance. “I want to speak to you, please.”