"For the life of me, Harry, I can't make out what Miss Lloyd means," said Phil, in a low voice, as he made his Cliquot effervesce, by stirring it with a macaroon; "she was ready enough to love me as a friend, and all that sort of thing." "You have asked her, then?" "Pointedly--hardly know what I said, though--one feels so deuced queer when making love--in earnest, I mean." "A man can do no more than ask." "Except asking again; but tell me, old fellow, have I a chance?" "How should I know, Phil? But I think that the pattern sub of the Royal Welsh Fusileers, made up, like Don Juan, "'By love, by youth, and by an army tailor,' should have a particularly good chance." "_You_ can afford to laugh at me, Harry." "Far from it, Phil; I haven't such a thought, believe me." "Seeing how friendly you are with these girls--with her especially--I thought you might know this. Is any other fellow spooney upon Miss Lloyd?" "A good many may well be; she is lovely." "Well, does any one stand in her good graces?" "Can't say, indeed, Caradoc," said I, as my thoughts reverted to that episode at the goat's-house, and others not dissimilar, with some emotions of compunction, as I looked into Phil's honest brown eyes. He fancied that Winifred avoided him. In that idea he erred. She admired and loved him as a friend--a gentleman who had done her great honour; but she never thought of analysing his emotions farther than to wish him well, and to wish him away from Craigaderyn, after that scene in the conservatory; and remembering it in all its points, she was careful not to trust herself alone with him, lest the subject might be renewed; and yet she found the necessity of approaching it one day, when a sudden recollection struck her, as they were riding home together, and had cantered a little way in advance of their party. "Now that I think of it, Mr. Caradoc," said she, "you must give me that likeness which you wear. I really cannot permit you to keep it, even in jest." "Jest!" repeated Phil, sadly and reproachfully; "do you think so meanly of me as to imagine that I would jest with you or with it?" "But I can see no reason why you should retain it." "Perhaps there is none--and yet, there is. It is the face of one I shall never, never forget; and it is a memento of happy days spent with you--a memento that other eyes than mine shall never look upon." "Do not speak thus, Mr. Caradoc, I implore you!" said Winifred, looking down on her horse's mane. "You will permit me to keep it?" "For a time," said she, trying to smile, but her lips quivered, "Thank you, dear Winifred." "If shown to none." "'While I live none shall see; and if I die in action--as many shall surely do, and why not I as well as happier fellows?--it will be heard of no more?"