your age, and that you are only ten instead of eighteen."

"Why?"

"For many reasons. Come; let us walk on."

As the lunch hour approaches, we retrace our steps until we reach the principal avenue. Here Mr. Carrington declines my invitation to enter the house and partake of such light refreshments as may be going, and departs with a promise to take us for a drive the following day.

Nature tells me the lunch hour must be past, and, impelled by hunger, I run down the gravel sweep at the top of my speed; but, just as I get to the thick bunch of laurels that conceals the house from view, Billy's voice, coming from nowhere in particular, stops me. Presently from between the evergreens his head emerges.

"I thought he was with you," he says, with an air of intense relief. "Well?"

"Well?" I reiterate.

"Why don't you tell me," cries Billy, angrily, "instead of standing there with your mouth open? Did he hear what we said?"

"Yes, every word."

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" with a dismal groan. "And who is to tell them at home, I would like to know?"

"Tell them what?"

"Why, about... Surely you don't mean to tell me he is going to marry you after all that?" exclaims Billy, his eyes enlarged to twice their usual size.

"Yes, of course he is," I reply, with much dignity and indignation combined. "When a man loves a woman he does not give her up for a trifle."

"A trifle! Well, I never," murmurs Billy floored for once in his life.

CHAPTER XIV

We are in the orchard of Summerleas alone, Mr. Carrington and I, with the warm but fitful April sun pouring heavily down upon us. All around is one great pink and white sheet of blossoms; the very path beneath our feet seems covered with tinted snow.

It is one of those pet days that, coming too soon, make us discontented to think tomorrow may again be damp and chill--a day that brings with it an early foretaste of what will be, and is still and heavy as in the heart of summer.

"It will be a good year for fruit," I tell my lover, soberly, 

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