from the various examining bodies which nowadays go up and down seeking whom they may devour.  All these varied excellences Eugene had had full opportunities of appreciating, for Kate was a distant cousin of his on the mother’s side, and had spent a large part of the last few years at the Manor.  It was, in fact, so obviously the duty of the two young people to fall in love with one another, that the surprise exhibited by their friends could only have been based on a somewhat cynical view of humanity.  The cynics ought to have considered themselves confuted by the fait accompli, but they refused to do so, and, led by Sir Roderick Ayre, had been known to descend to laying five to four against the permanency of the engagement—­an obviously coarse and improper proceeding.

It is possible that the odds might have risen a point or two, had these reprehensible persons been present at the little scene which occurred on the terrace, whither the girls had betaken themselves, and Eugene in his turn repaired when he had armed himself with Tennyson.  As he approached Claudia rose to go and leave the lovers to themselves.

“Don’t go, Lady Claudia,” said Eugene.  “I’m not going to read anything you ought not to hear.”

Of course it was the right thing for Claudia to go, and she knew it.  But she was a mischievous body, and the sight of a cloud on Kate’s brow had upon her exactly the opposite effect to what it ought to have had.

“You don’t really want me to stay, do you?  Wouldn’t you two rather be alone?” she asked.

“Much rather have you,” Eugene answered.

Kate rose with dignity.

“We need not discuss that,” she said.  “I have letters to write, and am going indoors.”

“Oh, I say, Kate, don’t do that!  I came out on purpose to read to you.”

“Lady Claudia is quite ready to make an audience for you,” was the chilling reply, as Kate vanished through the open door.

“There, you’ve done it now!” said Eugene.  “You really ought not to insist on staying.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lane.  But it’s all your fault.”  And Claudia tried to make her face assume a look of gravity.

A pause ensued, and then they both smiled.

“What were you going to read?” asked Claudia.

“Oh, Tennyson—­always read Tennyson.  Kate likes it, because she thinks it’s simple.”

“You flatter yourself that you see the deeper meaning?”

Eugene smiled complacently.

“And you mean Kate doesn’t?  I’m glad I’m not engaged to you, Mr. Lane, if that’s the kind of thing you say.”

Eugene opened his mouth, shut it again, and then said blandly: 

“So am I.”

“Thank you!  You need not be afraid.”

“If I were engaged to you, I mightn’t like you so well.”

A slight blush became visible on Claudia’s usually pale cheek.

Eugene looked away toward the horizon.