Later on she might consent to meet—at Lord Shangarry’s, perhaps (he had fallen in love with the pretty, gentle girl who had endured so much), or at Lady Forster’s house this season—Lady Forster had written a very charming note—but not just now. Gentle as Ella was, she could not forgive too readily. Yes, Lady Forster’s would be the best place. They would be in town after their honeymoon, and there they could see Mrs. Prior and break the ice, as it were. But to-day no ice has to be broken. Ella, who has arranged with Wyndham to meet him in the old Rectory garden, has gone over quite early to be petted and made much of by all there—Carew excepted. That unhappy youth, his first grand passion having been ruthlessly laid in the dust, and with yet another new trouble that had arrived by the post some days ago upon his shoulders, has carried himself and his injured affections far, far away, to a distant trout stream. Wyndham is staying with Crosby, who is most honestly glad of his friend’s successful exit from a difficult situation. He has, indeed, been highly sympathetic all through, astonishingly so for so determined a bachelor, as he seems to Wyndham, who six months ago had seemed quite as determined a bachelor to Crosby. Only to-day, at luncheon, he had told Wyndham not to mind about leaving him when the ‘Rectory’ called. He (Crosby) might walk down there later on. But he advised Wyndham to hurry up, to start as early as he liked, not to wait for him, and so forth. Wyndham took him at his word, decided not to wait, and was therefore naturally a little surprised to find Crosby on the door-steps, not only ready to go with him, but distinctly impatient. This seemed such devotion to the cause, such honest friendliness towards him and Ella, that Wyndham felt quite grateful to him. * * * * * ‘How happy they look!’ says Miss Barry to Susan, finding herself alone with her niece for a moment. She is looking at Wyndham and Ella, who indeed seem to have reached their pinnacle of bliss. ‘And no wonder,’ with a sigh. ‘He is a most excellent match. Not only money, but a title—in the distance. I can’t help wishing, Susan,’ sighing again, and more heavily this time, ‘that it had been you.’ ‘Me! I wouldn’t marry him for anything,’ says Susan indignantly. ‘That’s what girls always say,’ says Miss Barry mournfully, ‘until they are asked.’ Perhaps she herself had said it many times. ‘But I assure you, Susan, money is a good thing—and your poor father just now, with the loss of this four hundred pounds that he had laid aside for Carew——’ ‘Oh, I know!’ says Susan miserably. ‘It is dreadful. Poor, poor father—and poor Carew, too! I suppose he can’t go in for his exam now?’ ‘No, I’m afraid not, unless some miraculous thing should occur. Susan!’—Miss Barry looks wistfully at her niece—‘James, now, he will be well off—and he could help us. If you could——’ ‘Could what?’ Susan’s eyes are almost menacing.