“How lovely, how wonderfully lovely they are,” said Mrs. Murray, touching the beautiful fabrics with fond fingers; “and I am sure they will suit you well, my dear. Have you worn most of them?” “No, not all. This one I wore the evening I went with the Lord Archers to the Heathcote's ball. Lord Heathcote, you know, is an uncle of Captain De Lacy.” “Was Captain De Lacy there?” inquired Mrs. Murray. “Yes, indeed,” cried Maimie, “and we had a lovely time!” either the memory of that evening brought the warm blushes to her face, or it may be the thought of what she was about to tell her aunt; “and Captain De Lacy is coming to-morrow.” “Coming to-morrow?” “Yes, he has written to Aunt Frank, and to papa as well.” Mrs. Murray sat silent, apparently not knowing what to say, and Maimie stood with the dress in her hands waiting for her aunt to speak. At length Mrs. Murray said: “You knew Captain De Lacy before, I think.” “Oh, I have known him for a long time, and he's just splendid, auntie, and he's coming to--” Maimie paused, but her face told her secret. “Do you mean he is going to speak to your father about you, Maimie?” Maimie nodded. “And are you glad?” “He's very handsome, auntie, and very nice, and he's awfully well connected, and that sort of thing, and when Lord Heathcote dies he has a good chance of the estates and the title.” “Do you love him, Maimie?” asked her aunt, quietly. Maimie dropped the dress, and sitting down upon a low stool, turned her face from her aunt, and looked out of the window. “Oh, I suppose so, auntie,” she said. “He's very nice and gentlemanly and I like to be with him--” “But, Maimie, dear, are you not sure that you love him?” “Oh, I don't know,” said Maimie, petulantly. “Are you not pleased, auntie?” “Well, I confess I am surprised. I do not know Captain De Lacy, and besides I thought it was--I thought you--” Mrs. Murray paused, while Maimie's face grew hot with fiery blushes, but before she could reply they heard Harry's step on the stairs, and in a moment he burst into the room. “Ranald isn't coming!” he exclaimed. “Here's a note for you, Maimie. But what the--but what he means,” said Harry, checking himself, “I can't make out.” “Not coming?” cried Maimie, the flush fading from her face. “What can he mean?” She opened the note, and as she read the blood rushed quickly into her face again, and as quickly fled, leaving her pale and trembling. “Well, what does he say?” inquired Harry, bluntly. “He says it is impossible for him to come tonight,” said Maimie, putting the note into her bosom. “Huh!” grunted Harry, and flung out of the room. Immediately Maimie pulled out the note. “Oh, auntie,” she cried, “I am so miserable; Ranald is not coming and he says--there read it.” She hurriedly thrust the note into Mrs. Murray's hands, and Mrs. Murray, opening it, read: