should get into disgrace. And when we went for that drive; and two or three times we met here; and that was all. I am sure I don't know what made him fall in love with _me_, and Dora so much prettier and more charming in every way. I don't believe he knows himself."

"It is certainly most extraordinary," says mother, "and, I must add, very unfortunate. You will acknowledge it looks suspicious. Your father is much disturbed about it and I really think Dora's heart must be broken, she is crying so bitterly. If we had not all made up our minds so securely about Dora it would not be so bad; but she was sure of it. And his visits here were so frequent. I really do think he has behaved very badly."

"It was a mistake altogether," I murmur feebly.

"Yes, and a most unhappy one. I am sure I don't know what _is_ to be done about Dora. She insists upon it that you secretly encouraged and took him away from her; and your father appears to sympathize with her."

"That goes without telling," I reply bitterly.

Then there follows a pause, during which mother sighs heavily once or twice, and I do severe battle with my conscience. At the end of it I cry, suddenly---"Mother, there is one thing for which I _do_ blame myself, but at first it did not occur to me that it might be wrong. One day we were talking of photographs, Mr. Carrington and I, and--two days afterwards I gave him mine. He put it in his locket, and when Dora saw him down by the river it was _it_ he was kissing. I never dreamed it _could_ be mine until he showed it to me yesterday."

"I had forgotten to ask you about that. Dora and your father were discussing it just now, and Dora declared she was certain it had happened as you have now stated. Phyllis, if there has not been actual duplicity in your conduct, there has at least been much imprudence."

"I know that, mother," I return disconsolately.

"This will greatly add to your discredit in the affair: you must see that. Really," says mother, sinking into a chair, and sighing again, "this engagement, that should cause us all such pride and joy, is only a source of annoyance and pain."

"Then I won't marry him at all, mother," I cry, recklessly. "I don't want to one bit: and probably if I tell him to-morrow I hate and despise him _he_ will not want to either. Or shall I write? A letter will go far quicker."

 Prev. P 54/313 next