The girl’s pulses leapt at his voice, and then a flood of shame swept over her, as enlightenment came to her in a flash. Aunt Cicely had taken this means of forcing him into a proposal! “I cannot tell,” she said impatiently. “But the money is yours. I do not want to hear anything more about it.” “I will not touch a farthing of it,” he answered. “If you will not have it, neither will I.” Thus they argued, neither of them showing any sign of yielding in the conflict of generous intention. In their excitement they had stood still; the wind raged round them, blowing Catherine’s hair and cape about her; but she did not heed it. “I cannot help it,” she said at length. “It is nothing to do with me. But,” she added, “it is time for me to go in. I suppose you are returning to London this evening?” “Stop!” he cried. “You shall not go yet. For a month I have had no thought unconnected with you. I have searched for you everywhere, and have I found you only to lose you? Why should this wretched money come between us? It is yours, but Heaven knows I have not sought you for it. Catherine, do you believe me?” “Yes,” she answered simply, while his arm went round her. “But the money is yours. Take it, but take me too.” [THE END.] SHEILA’S COUSIN EFFIE. A STORY FOR GIRLS. BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen Sisters,” etc. CHAPTER XVII. CYRIL’S WOOING. “Then, mother, you think I can depend upon my father’s doing something handsome for me if I were to get her?” “Yes, my boy. I had a long talk with him last evening after you had spoken with me about it. He has taken a great fancy to May Lawrence, and he was very pleased indeed with her visit to the works the other day, and her promise to come and sing at the club some evening. He seemed just a little surprised when I spoke of your hope of winning her for a wife; but he said there was nobody he should prefer more for a daughter-in-law, and I am sure he spoke the truth.” “Yes, yes, that is all very well; but what sort of establishment would he give me? She has a little fortune of her own. I know that, and, of course, she will come in for more when her father dies; but that may be years off still. I can’t ask a woman to marry me without having a home to offer her!” “No, and your father will give you that. He said he would establish you comfortably in London, and allow you six hundred a year, and that, with your own earnings at the Bar, since you have now finally decided upon the law as your profession, will enable you to get along nicely. You have great talents, you know, Cyril, and we expect great things of you!” Cyril kissed his mother, but looked a little doubtful.