That Mr Smith should be struck at first sight-that he should be more than struck, stricken, in a sober, middleaged, helpless sort of way-was what she expected; but she must look to her weapons if she meant to subdue him further. After her second interview, she knew that she had so far succeeded.

As they rolled along, sitting opposite to each other, she swiftly felt convinced of this. She knew that he was looking at her. She knew that when he turned his face to notice the sombre sky with its thin struggling sunset, he was furtively watching her face instead.

He was not young nor handsome, but he knew how to talk, and he knew how to look. He was not insensible, nay, he was creeping within her influence.

All this was delightful. She enjoyed it as a new sensation. She must have him. All that remained to be determined was, whether he should have her.

This was the under-current which gave a reality, a depth, to the drama. This was the doubt, the wonder, the exciting, alluring theme which absorbed her thoughts. She had not made up her mind, nor did she mean to make it up hurriedly, but she would wait and see.

Ten thousand a-year! That meant a great deal. London seasons, Continental tours, presentations, honours, and pleasures. That was what ten thousand a-year would give her, and she knew of nothing better that life could yield.

Then, on the other hand, a little plain elderly man, not insignificant, and by no means disagreeable. She thought it might do. If it came to anything. This was her feeling a feeling between jest and earnest, which caused her. to look back upon that dusky drive in the November twilight as to one of the most curiously pleasant things in her life.

CHAPTER V.

CAN'T YOU SAY THE T's?

WHEN Dr Hunt had left his card at the house on the Hill, he had relieved his mind of a great weight.

Now he could talk to Mr Smith when they met one another. Now he could overtake him coming out of church, and jump into the same railway-carriage. Now he could look forward with a very sure and happy confidence to many a snug bachelor dinner in that snug bachelor dining-room, for which, even with its extra surreptitious glass of port afterwards, he would have no opposition to face from his wife. She would be ready to forward all friendly intercourse of this kind, and he, in return, would make her welcome to get Mr Smith for a son-in-law, if she could.

He saw nothing degrading to her, his daughters, or himself, in such a proceeding. As long as his one foible was regarded, he was careless of the rest. As long as he was met on equal grounds, and was not called "doctor," he was satisfied.

It was an old offence of Lord Sauffrenden's, this calling him "doctor;" but he could pardon in Lord Sauffrenden what he could not in any other man. No one else did so. Whether Dr Hunt merely told anecdotes in which his friends called him "Hunt," or whether he more distinctly conveyed it to the minds of his auditors that so he liked to be called, matters not; his end was attained.

Mr Smith, who could not call him "Hunt" at this early period in their acquaintance, at least did not call him "doctor; and when, in the course of conversation, he alluded to his companion as a neighbour, Dr Hunt's ambition was fully satisfied. To be regarded as a neighbour was the desire of his life. To be neighbourly included his entire creed. "And I hope you like the neighbourhood?" was invariably his third question.

To this Mr Smith had replied that, so far, he liked the neighbourhood very much indeed.

Less, indeed, it would have been difficult to say with politeness, but his manner expressed sincerity. The neigh

bourhood, so far as he knew it, was peopled by Lord and Lady Sauffrenden, and the three Miss Tolletons, and he liked them all. He would have said, at all events, unhesitatingly, that he liked them all, but the truth was that he had barely exchanged half-a-dozen words with any but Helen. He had called at Freelands, of course, and they had sat demurely by while she talked, and had risen, and given them their hands politely afterwards. That was all he knew of them.

Mr Rodney he had only seen in church, the Deanes he had missed likewise, and Captain Wellwood was still away among the woodcocks.

One afternoon, however, shortly after this, he met Philip himself, just arrived by the train. Having been a little surprised at being obliged to call on Mr Smith, and having since forgotten all about him, Captain Wellwood was naturally again a little surprised at being greeted by a stranger in his native place. He remembered, however, almost instantly, who he was. They met in a lonely part of the road. The other passengers were far advanced in front, and there was a momentary awkwardness. Then Mr Smith

raised his hat and stopped.

"I was sorry to be out when you kindly called on me, Captain Wellwood" (he had not forgotten that Captain Wellwood was the first of his new neighbours who had done so), "and to find you were from home afterwards. You have your gun-case-good sport, I hope?"

"Well, no; very bad. No frost, and no hope of it." Captain Wellwood was not in the best of humours.

"Ah, indeed; very warm here, too. Quite unseasonable." "The hounds been doing well?"

"There was a fine run several days ago, but they didn't kill. I had the whole hunt up about my house for upwards of an hour, and then they went round by the river, and across the country beyond."

"Where did they lose him?"

66

Beyond Mentonharst, but I am not certain where." "You were not with them?"

say

I'm sorry to I don't hunt. I had not the chance when I was young, and I hardly fancy beginning now." 66 Ch, better late than never. Lots of fellows don't take to it just at first. Lord Sauffrenden's home again?".

"Yes. Don't let me keep you standing here in the cold wind. You have not been walking as I have. 'Good morning. I hope we may have many other

"Good morning. Oh yes, certainly."

What in the world had made the Sauffrendens ask him to call? Not Sauffrenden, of course; he did not wonder at him. He would make friends with every odd-come-short within a hundred miles if he could, but his wife was different. He had a great opinion of Lady Sauffrenden, partly owing, perhaps, to the fact that she, like himself, was apt to pick and choose her acquaintances. Sauffrenden would have walked arm in arm with a street scavenger if he happened to take his fancy, and readily rubbed shoulders with far more trying people-those half-and-halfs whom it is regarded by many as particularly necessary to keep at a distance, if they themselves are to remain the immaculate things Nature has made them. Such an idea would have been scouted by Sauffrenden. What! a guinea become silver by rubbing against a shilling! Only silver-gilt rubs off.

Captain Wellwood could not be compared to silver-gilt. He was gold-true gold-but not the 22-carat gold of his friend. There was some alloy in him. He said to himself that it was all very well for Bob Sauffrenden, who was now a peer and a great man, to do as he chose in such matters, but for him it was different. He had no handle to his name to show who he was, and consequently every low fellow without eyes to see the difference, unless pointed out by Burke, thought he had a right to hang on to him in a way that could not be done to "a lord." Sauffrenden was a nuisance in that way, and, but for his wife, would have been twice as bad. Philip had often cause to bless her, and there was only one point on which they were at issue. She would not know the Tolletons, and he would not give up knowing them.

Until lately the Tolletons had known everybody, and Captain Wellwood among the rest. Like other people, he talked of the girls as handsome and good fun, and like other people he stopped there.

Marry them? He thought not.
He liked to go to the house.

Everything there was

pleasant. Old Tolleton gave a capital dinner, and there was

a nice cover for pheasants, which some were ill-natured enough to say he kept on purpose for his daughters' lovers.

He

The young man had never declared himself a lover, and showed no intentions of doing anything of the kind; indeed it was alleged that had these been demanded of him, he would have declared they were not forthcoming; but still he was made welcome to the pheasant-shooting. had not fulfilled Helen's hopes, but he remained perfectly good friends with her in her despair. Before the Sauffrendens, as the Sauffrendens, existed, he had gone to Freelands openly and often. Half admiring, half scoffing, it is true, but without a thought of hindrance.

The girls were very young-they were hardly grown up; there was but a year between each; and had they been like most others, it is probable the youngest would have been still in the school-room. But who was to keep her there? Not Helen; she found Carry dull company, and emancipated Lily the moment she desired it. Not their father; he got rid of the expense, and took their word for it their education was complete. Mother they had none. She had died when they were little more than infants. The only guidance they received of any sort came from their father's sister, who, worldly, ambitious, proud of her nieces' looks, and impatient for the success which should attend her chaperonage of them, hurried on their accomplishments, filled their minds with ideas of future triumphs, impressed on them rules and maxims such as might have originated from the lips of Lord Chesterfield, and then died at the very commencement of the season which should have seen Helen launched on her career.

The prospect was all changed. Now there was no opening left. Every year, it is true, they went to London, but each time the expedition was felt to be a failure. They preferred to run riot at home.

They chattered and flirted, and men encouraged and admired. They grew reckless, and came to be talked about. That was their history.

Nobody spoke to them, nobody reasoned with them, or counselled them, or tried to lead them into better ways; they only either whispered about them, or laughed at them.

They were bold, forward girls, and should never be inti