“Oh, you make me ashamed!” cried Mabel, abashed by the perfect confidence with which this stern, self-sufficient man regarded her. “Oh, Mr Burgrave, do please believe I am not good enough for you. It makes me miserable to think how disappointed you will be.” “I should like to hear you call me Eustace,” said Mr Burgrave softly, unmoved by her protestations. It occurred to Mabel, with a dreadful sense of helplessness, that he regarded them only as deprecating properly the honour he proposed doing her. “Well--please--Eustace--” But Mr Burgrave kissed her solemnly on the forehead, and she could stand no more. “It’s too much! I’ll come back presently,” she gasped, and succeeded in escaping. As she fled through the hall she met Georgia. “Perhaps you’ll be interested to know that I’m engaged to Mr Burgrave, Georgie!” she cried hysterically, rushing into her own room and locking the door. “That wretched man!” cried Georgia. “After all Dr Tighe and I have done for his leg!” “Didn’t know Tighe had any grievance against him about this,” grumbled Dick. He was sitting on the edge of the dressing-table, ruefully contemplating his boots, with his hands dug deep in his pockets. On ordinary occasions Georgia would have requested him, gently but firmly, to move, but now she was too much perturbed in mind to think of the furniture. Delayed in starting by the dust-storm, Dick had only returned from a hard day’s riding late at night, to find himself confronted on the threshold, so to speak, by the triumphant Commissioner, and requested to give him his sister. “Oh, but he would be on our side, of course,” said Georgia. “Dick, I do think it is horrid of Mr Burgrave to have proposed under present circumstances. It’s as if he wanted to rob us of everything--even of Mab.” “No, he’s doing us an honour. He all but told me so. But he really is absolutely gone on Mab. His whole face changes when he speaks of her. Fact is, Georgie, if the man didn’t come rooting about on our very own frontier, I couldn’t help having a sneaking liking for him. His belief in his own greatness is perfectly sincere, and he cherishes no animosity against us for opposing his plans. He told me that he hoped political differences would make no break in our friendly intercourse--Hang it! this thing’s giving way. Why in the world don’t you have stronger tables?” “Sit here,” said Georgia, pointing to the wicker sofa. “Well, Dick?” “Well? It’s coming, old girl, coming fast, and he’s mercifully trying to soften the blow to us.” Georgia looked round with a shiver. The shabby bungalow with its makeshift furniture was the outward and visible sign of the life-work which she and her husband had inherited from her father, and it was to be taken from them by the action of the man who hoped that his arbitrary decree would be no obstacle to their continuing to regard him as a friend.