'But who is he visiting in this locality?' 'I do not know.' 'Not know--how?' 'Simply because I never asked him.' 'Strange!' 'Not at all, Roland dear, when I think and care so little about him.' She tried a tiny caress, but he turned from her, embittered and humiliated. Disappointment, shame, sorrow, and mortification were all gathering in his heart, as doubts of Annot grew there too; and in his then weak and nervous state he actually trembled to pursue a subject so obnoxious. Was it to be the old story; 'Of one that loved, not wisely, but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme.' A little silence ensued, during which, as he looked upon her in all her fair beauty, so unstable of purpose, and so humble in heart is one who loves truly that he felt inclined to throw himself upon her affection for him, and only beseech her to be careful. She was--he thought--young, artless, rash, and perhaps knew not how unseemly, especially in a censorious country place, were these mistakes of hers. But her manner repelled him. The half-grown sensation of softness died away, and irritation came instead. So he said bluntly: 'Annot, I tell you plainly that there must be no more of this sort of thing.' Her usually sweet little lips curled defiantly, and she eyed him inquiringly now. 'Dare you try to make me believe that what you admit is all that has occurred?' 'I do not wish to try and make you believe anything,' she replied sullenly, yet in a broken tone. 'This is worse and worse,' said Roland in a husky voice. 'Are you jealous of him?' she asked, with a laugh that had no mirth in it. 'Surely not; he is but a boy.' 'I am, and shall be, jealous of no one, Annot!' 'He speaks to me; it is not my fault--and is always polite. Do not let us squabble, dearest Roland--I do so hate squabbling,' said she, selecting a white bud from among the flowers at her waist and pinning it in his hole; but Roland's blood was too much up to be propitiated by a white bud, so Annot had recourse to a few tears; but, so far from there being peace between them, matters waxed more unpleasant still. 'Why has this Mr.--ah--Hoyle--as you name him, never called here, nor left even a card?' 'I cannot tell.' Yet he is an old London friend, and has come almost to the house door!' 'I cannot tell,' repeated Annot. 'Ycu have met him on the skirts of the park?' 'By the merest chance.' 'These chances would seem to have occurred too often,' interrupted Roland, greatly ruffled now, yet feeling sick at heart; 'so let us come to an end!' 'By--by parting?' she asked, with pale lips. 'It is easily done; I am going back to the regiment in a little time, and gossips will soon cease to link my name with yours, when you----' 'How cruel of you, Roland!' she said, and she looked at him entreatingly for a moment with her small hands clasped, and then turned away her face.