it just lately?” murmured Dora.     

       “Last summer.”     

       “Ah! And—and didn’t she——?”     

       “Oh, I don’t know. Yes, hang it, I believe she did. She was perfectly straight, Miss Bellairs. I don’t say a word against her. She-I think she didn’t know her own feelings until—until I spoke, you know—and then——”     

       “Do go on, if—if it doesn’t——”     

       “Why, then, the poor girl cried and said it couldn’t be because she—she was engaged to another fellow; and she sent me away.”     

       Miss Bellairs was listening attentively.     

       “And,” continued Charlie, “she wrote and said it must be good-by and—and——”     

       “And you think she——?”     

       “She told me so,” whispered Charlie. “She said she couldn’t part without telling me. Oh, I say, Miss Bellairs, isn’t it all damnable? I beg your pardon.”     

       Dora was tracing little figures on the gravel with her parasol.     

       “Now what would you do?” cried Charlie. “She loves me, I know she does, and she’s going to marry this other fellow because she promised him first. I don’t suppose she knew what love was then.”     

       “Oh, I’m sure she didn’t,” exclaimed Dora earnestly.     

       “You can’t blame her, you know. And it’s absurd to—to—to—not to—well, to marry a fellow you don’t care for when you care for another fellow, you know!”     

       “Yes.”     

       “Of course you can hardly imagine yourself in that position, but suppose a man liked you and-and was placed like that, you know, what should you feel you ought to do?”     

       “Oh, I don’t know,” exclaimed Dora, clasping her hands.       “Oh, do tell me what you think! I’d give the world to know!”     

       Charlie’s surprised glance warned her of her betrayal. “You mustn’t ask me.” she exclaimed hastily.     

       “I won’t ask a word. I—I’m awfully 

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