"You surprise me! I hear quite the contrary I hear that dear little Miss Heather, who was so kind to me, and did me such immense honour as to put me into her gallery of heroes, is making quite a stir in society. When society begins to appreciate you, Miss Heather, you ought to consider yourself in luck. They say--and by 'they' I mean the people who live in this wicked world, the people who are 'in the know,' you understand--that if you are not engaged to be married before this time next year, you will be the height of the fashion." I found myself colouring very deeply. "I don't intend to be either engaged or married," I said; "and to make a stir in society is about the very last thing I should wish." "I wonder what you would wish?" he asked, looking at me attentively. I looked back at him. Then I said, in a low, quiet voice: "I can't quite understand why it is, but I find it very easy to tell you things. Perhaps it is because you are in my gallery and I am in yours." "Yes, of course, that is the reason," he replied, with one of his quick, beautiful smiles. "I will tell you what I really want." "Do, Miss Heather--I really can't call you Miss Dalrymple, so it must be Miss Heather." "I don't mind," I answered. "Well, now then, out with your greatest wish!" "I should like," I said, speaking deliberately, "to leave London, and to go into the heart of the country, to find there a pretty cottage, with woodbine and monthly roses climbing about the walls, and dear little low-ceiled rooms, and little lattice windows, and no sign of any other house anywhere near at all. And I should like beyond words to take father and live with him, all by our two selves, in that cottage. I should not want fine dresses there, and society would matter less than nothing to me." Captain Carbury looked somewhat surprised, then he said, quietly: "About your father; well, of course, I--I _can't_ speak about him, you know, but there's--there's Lady Helen. How would she enjoy your programme?" "There would be no programme at all, no dream to be fulfilled, no happiness to be secured, if she went with us," I answered. "Oh, I see," he answered; "poor little Miss Heather!" And he whistled softly under his breath. I looked full at him. "You don't like her either," I said, and it seemed to me that a new and very strong chord of sympathy sprang up between us as I uttered the words. "No," he answered. "I won't say why--I won't give any reasons; she may mean all right, but she's a worldly woman, and I don't care a bit about worldly women. I am afraid you won't have your dream, Miss Heather, so I must tell you what is the next best thing for you to do." "But there is no next best," I replied.