"What a brilliant colour that ribbon of yours is, Miss Laurence!" said Captain Chancellor, abruptly. "Is scarlet your favourite colour? You generally have some of it about you." "Only in winter," answered Eugenia, lightly. "In summer I can't bear it. My tastes change altogether with the seasons." "So if you come back next summer, you'd better look out," said Bob, addressing Captain Chancellor, and grinning maliciously. "She won't like you then. It's a good thing you're going before the weather changes." And so saying, he skimmed off again. "What does he mean?" exclaimed Eugenia, not disguising the shock the boy's words had given her. "You are not going away, Captain Chancellor?" There was an unconscious entreaty in her voice, that gave Beauchamp a sudden thrill of pain and self-reproach. "Not just yet, I hope. But my plans are a little--are not quite decided at present," he answered, confusedly. Then, notwithstanding his resolutions, the look in Eugenia's face tempted him to say more. "You must know, Miss Laurence, how painful, how unendurable it will be to me to leave Wareborough," he said, in a low, hurried voice. "Will you not come back again?" she asked, very quietly, striving hard to force back the intense eagerness with which she awaited his reply. "I hope so. I earnestly hope I may be able to do so," he answered; and for the time the hope was sincere. "But I am not my own master. I can't explain all I mean. I am hampered in every direction. But some day, perhaps--No, it is no use--" He stopped. Eugenia stood beside him without speaking. He glanced half timidly at her face. Its expression puzzled him. It was getting late now; the rest of the party had taken off their skates, and were coming towards them across the pond, prepared evidently for the walk home. Beauchamp felt desperate. He might not have another opportunity of saying what he now felt he _must_ say. "Miss Laurence--Eugenia," he exclaimed. She started a little. "I must ask you one thing: Will you think as well as you can of me, even if others may blame me? Will you not judge me by appearances more than you can help? My position is full of difficulty. As I said just now, I am not in any sense my own master; but--if I may hope for nothing else--I would at least like to think you would judge me leniently, even if I hardly seem to deserve it." He was _quite_ in earnest now. He had never spoken so to any woman before. When he had left home this afternoon, he had not the slightest idea he should speak so to this woman to-day. He got his answer. "You need not ask me to judge you leniently. I do not think it would be possible for me ever to judge you at all. Nothing--no one but yourself could ever make me think ill of you."