Full of these reflections, Dorothy found herself one lovely spring afternoon knocking at the door of the Cottage. Eva was at home, and she was at once ushered into her presence. She was sitting on a low chair—the same on which Ernest always pictured her with that confounded Skye terrier she was so fond of kissing—an open book upon her knee, and looking out at the little garden and the sea beyond. She looked pale and thin, Dorothy thought. On her visitor’s entrance, Eva rose and kissed her. “I am so glad to see you,” she said; “I was feeling lonely.” “Lonely!” answered Dorothy, in her straightforward way; “why, I have been trying to find you alone for the last fortnight, and have never succeeded.” Eva coloured. “One may be lonely with ever so many people round one.” Then for a minute or so they talked about the weather; so persistently did they discuss it, indeed, that the womanly instinct of each told her that the other was fencing. After all, it was Eva who broke the ice first. “Have you heard from Ernest lately?” she said, nervously. “Yes; I got a note by last mall.” “Oh,” said Eva, clasping her hands involuntarily, “what did he say?” “Nothing much. But I got a letter by the mail before that, in which he said a good deal. Among other things, he said he had written to you. Did you get the letter?” Eva coloured to her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. Dorothy rose, and seated herself again on a footstool by Eva’s feet, and wondered at the trouble in her eyes. How could she be troubled when she had heard from Ernest—“like that?” “What did you answer him, dear?” Eva covered her face with her hands. “Do not talk about it,” she said; “it is too dreadful to me!” “What can you mean? He tells me you are engaged to him.” “Yes—that is, no. I was half engaged. Now I am engaged to Mr. Plowden.” Dorothy gave a gasp of horrified astonishment. “Engaged to that man when you were engaged to Ernest! You must be joking.” “O Dorothy, I am not joking; I wish to Heaven I were. I am engaged to him. I am to marry him in less than a month. O, pity me, I am wretched.” “You mean to tell me,” said Dorothy rising, “that you are engaged to Mr. Plowden when you love Ernest?” “Yes, oh yes; I cannot help—” At that moment the door opened, and Florence entered, attended by Mr. Plowden. Her keen eyes saw at once that something was wrong, and her intelligence told her what it was. After her bold fashion, she determined to take the bull by the horns. Unless something were done, with Dorothy at her back, Eva might prove obdurate after all. Advancing, she shook Dorothy cordially by the hand. “I see from your face,” she said, “that you have just heard the good news. Mr. Plowden is so shy that he would not consent to announce it before; but here he is to receive your congratulations.”