Miss Mallien was well worth looking at, as she was a gracious and stately maiden, well fitted to be the mate of the Saxon giant. Dorinda was as tall for a woman as Rupert was for a man, and carried herself with the same imposing dignity. Her dark hair and deeply blue eyes hinted at an Irish strain, and her vivacity was also Hibernian. But to this fascination, which had to do with the race of the sister isle, Dorinda added much English common sense, so that her romantic dreams never overrode her matter-of-fact instincts. She loved her cousin for his staunch honesty and attractive simplicity of character, since in these qualities he represented the exact opposite of her father. For this last-mentioned individual, whom she had the misfortune to call her parent, Dorinda did not entertain much respect, and hoped by marrying Rupert to escape from a companionship which was very disagreeable to her. It was only Hendle's wealth which induced Mallien to consent to the marriage; but, even had he objected, Dorinda would have held to her engagement. Rupert was her man of men, and, while he held her hands and looked at her with grave admiration, she thought how fortunate she was in securing such a mate. She esteemed his devotion more than much fine gold. "My father will be waiting for me at the cottage," said Dorinda; as she strolled away again. "A little disappointment won't harm him," said Hendle coolly, for he had not much sympathy with Mallien's selfish nature; "and I want you to meet Carrington. He leaves for London after dinner, and you won't meet him again for some time. Say yes." "Yes," responded Dorinda, who really felt considerable curiosity concerning the object of Hendle's Rugby hero worship; "but father will be cross." "I never knew father when he wasn't cross," retorted her lover, as they resumed their walk and entered the village square. "He's an infliction. I tell you what, Dorinda, the best thing we can do is to marry before the roses fade." "Oh, Rupert, you are getting quite poetical." "Am I?" asked Rupert, surprised. "That's strange, when I don't like poetry." "I must teach you to like it, dear." "Hum!" said Rupert, rather at sea, "you mean, I suppose, that we have much to learn from one another." "Something of that sort." "You shall do exactly as you like, dear," said her lover, as they came in sight of the house. "Why, here is Mrs. Beatson."