Duncan Leslie was a sturdy, manly young fellow in his way, but he had arrived at a weak period. He thought over his position, and what life would become had he a wife at home he really loved; and in spite of various displays of reserve, and the sneers, hints, and lastly the plain declaration that Louise was to marry some French gentleman of good family and position, Duncan found himself declaring that his ideas were folly one hour, and the next he was vowing that he would not give up, but that he would win in spite of all the Frenchmen on the face of the earth. "I must have a walk," he used to say. "If I stop poring over books now, I shall be quite thick-headed to-morrow. A man must study his health." So Duncan Leslie studied his health, and started off that evening in a different direction to the Vines'; and then, in spite of himself, began to make a curve, one which grew smaller and smaller as he walked thoughtfully on. "I don't see why I should not call," he said to himself. "There's no harm in that. Wish I had found some curious sea-anemone; I could go and ask the old man what it was--and have her sweet clear eyes reading me through and through. I should feel that I had lowered myself in her sight." "No," he said, emphatically; "I'll be straightforward and manly over it if I can." "Hang that old woman! She doesn't like me. There's a peculiarly malicious look in her eyes whenever we meet. Sneering fashion, something like her old brother, only he seems honest and she does not. I'd give something to know whether Louise cares for that French fellow. If she doesn't, why should she be condemned to a life of misery? Could I make her any happier?" "I'll go home now." "No, I--I will not; I'll call." These questions had been scattered over Duncan Leslie's walk, and the making up of his mind displayed in the last words was three-quarters of an hour after the first. "I'm no better than a weak boy," he said, as he strode along manfully now. "I make mountains of molehills. What can he more natural and neighbourly than for me to drop in, as I am going to do, for a chat with old Vine?" There was still that peculiar feeling of consciousness, though, to trouble him, as he knocked, and was admitted by Liza, whose eyelids were nearly as red as the ribbon she had bought. The next minute he was in the pleasant homely drawing-room, feeling a glow of love and pride, and ready to do battle with any De Ligny in France for the possession of the prize whose soft warm hand rested for a few moments in his. "Ah, Miss Van Heldre," he said, as he shook hands with her in turn, and his face lit up and a feeling of satisfaction thrilled him, for there was something in matter-of-fact Madelaine that gave him confidence. Aunt Marguerite's eyes twinkled with satisfaction, as she saw the cordial greeting, and built up a future of her own materials.