"You cannot think how I pity business men in cities," Garth went on, as he walked beside her. "Boys fresh from school chained for the best part of their lives to the desk; cramped up in a close atmosphere, bringing all their best energies, their choicest talents, down to the level of dull routine,--money-getting, money-loving,---narrowed to a perfect machinery of existence." "I think you are a little unjust and prejudiced there," replied Queenie, with some spirit; "you may love your life best, and I dare say you are right. You have freedom and rule, two very good things." "And plenty of fresh air," put in Garth, baring his head as he spoke to the sweet moorland wind that met them. "Yes, and that too. But these men are to be honored, because they make the best of their life. Many of them do not like it; a few rebel; others get cramped and narrowed, as you say. But to do one's work in the world, and to do it worthily,--how distasteful and full of drudgery and routine as it may be,--is to be a man in the truest sense of the word," finished Queenie, with a sudden sparkle in her brown eyes. "Very properly put. Do you think I do not agree with you? I am only comparing my lot with others, a little to their disparagement. There is Ted, there, that brother of mine,--would you believe it, Miss Marriott!--I think you must take him in hand, and preach contentment,--he vows this place is a howling desert; no society; not a thing to do. It must be owned," continued Garth, candidly, "that for a fellow without resources Hepshaw may be a trifle dull, especially in the winter." "Do you never find it so, Mr. Clayton?" asked Queenie, with a little natural surprise. It still seemed strange to her that this man, so young and distinguished-looking, should own himself contented with a position where he had few equals and no superiors. "Dull! do you mean to compare me to Ted, who is lazy, and has no resources?" returned the young man, slightly discomfited. "What is there that my life lacks? I have a good home, sisters, a plague of a brother. It is my own fault, I suppose, if I have no closer ties," continued Garth, with a little laugh, and coloring slightly; "but there is plenty of time for that. I have more work than I know how to do; and then there is cricket and foot-ball; and lectures and the chess-club for winter's evening. I sometimes wish my days were double their length. That does not look like dulness," finished Garth, in a chafed tone, as though something in her words had offended him. Queenie held her ground a little obstinately; she was on the brink of a discovery. What was the one jarring element in this honest sweet nature? Was it pride? or--