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she assented, carelessly. "But will you send Miss Hastings here? She knows the various birds far better than I do."

      Sir Oswald, with a pleased expression on his face, walked away.

      "So you have an aviary at the Court, Miss Darrell. It seems to me there is nothing wanting here. You do not seem interested; you do not like birds?"

      "Not caged ones," she replied. "I love birds almost as though they were living friends, but not bright-plumaged birds in golden cages. They should be free and wild in the woods and forests, filling the summer air with joyous song. I love them well then."

      "You like unrestricted freedom?" he observed.

      "I do not merely like it, I deem it an absolute necessity. I should not care for life without it."

      The captain looked more attentively at her. It was the Darrell face, surely enough – features of perfect beauty, with a soul of fire shining through them.

      "Yet," he said, musingly, cautiously feeling his way, "there is but little freedom – true freedom – for women. They are bound down by a thousand narrow laws and observances – caged by a thousand restraints."

      "There is no power on earth," she returned, hastily, "that can control thoughts or cage souls; while they are free, it is untrue to say that there is no freedom."

      A breath of fragrant wind came and stirred the great white lilies. The gallant captain saw at once that he should only lose in arguments with her.

      "Shall we visit the aviary?" he asked.

      And she walked slowly down the path, he following.

      "She is like an empress," he thought. "It will be all the more glory for me if I can win such a wife for my own."

      CHAPTER IX.

      THE BROKEN LILY

      Pauline Darrell was a keen, shrewd observer of character. She judged more by small actions than by great ones; it was a characteristic of hers. When women have that gift, it is more to be dreaded than the cool, calm, matured judgment of men. Men err sometimes in their estimate of character, but it is very seldom that a woman makes a similar mistake.

      The garden path widened where the tall white lilies grew in rich profusion, and there Pauline and Captain Langton walked side by side. The rich, sweet perfume seemed to gather round them, and the dainty flowers, with their shining leaves and golden bracts, looked like great white stars.

      Captain Langton carried a small cane in his hand. He had begun to talk to Pauline with great animation. Her proud indifference piqued him. He was accustomed to something more like rapture when he devoted himself to any fair lady. He vowed to himself that he would vanquish her pride, that he would make her care for him, that the proud, dark eyes should soften and brighten for him; and he gave his whole mind to the conquest. As he walked along, one of the tall, white lilies bent over the path; with one touch of the cane he beat it down, and Pauline gave a little cry, as though the blow had pained her. She stopped, and taking the slender green stem in her hand, straightened it; but the blow had broken one of the white leaves.

      "Why did you do that?" she asked, in a pained voice.

      "It is only a flower," he replied, with a laugh.

      "Only a flower! You have killed it. You cannot make it live again. Why need you have cut its sweet life short?"

      "It will not be missed from among so many," he said.

      "You might say the same thing of yourself," she retorted. "The world is full of men, and you would hardly be missed from so many; yet you would not like – "

      "There is some little difference between a man and a flower, Miss Darrell," he interrupted, stiffly.

      "There is, indeed; and the flowers have the advantage," she retorted.

      The captain solaced himself by twisting his mustache, and relieved his feelings by some few muttered words, which Miss Darrell did not hear. In her quick, impulsive way, she judged him at once.

      "He is cruel and selfish," she thought; "he would not even stoop to save the life of the sweetest flower that blows. He shall not forget killing that lily," she continued, as she gathered the broken chalice, and placed it in her belt. "Every time he looks at me," she said, "he shall remember what he has done."

      The captain evidently understood her amiable intention, and liked her accordingly. They walked on for some minutes in perfect silence; then Pauline turned to him suddenly.

      "Have you been long in the army, Captain Langton?"

      Flattered by a question that seemed to evince some personal interest, he hastened to reply:

      "More than eight years. I joined when I was twenty."

      "Have you seen any service?" she asked.

      "No," he replied. "My regiment had been for many years in active service just before I joined, so that we have been at home since then."

      "In inglorious ease," she said.

      "We are ready for work," he returned, "when work comes."

      "How do you employ your time?" she asked; and again he was flattered by the interest that the question showed. His face flushed. Here was a grand opportunity of showing this haughty girl, this "proudest Darrell of them all," that he was eagerly sought after in society such as she had not yet seen.

      "You have no conception of the immense number of engagements that occupy our time," he replied; "I am fond of horses – I take a great interest in all races."

      If he had added that he was one of the greatest gamblers on the turf, he would have spoken truthfully.

      "Horse racing," said Miss Darrell – "that is the favorite occupation of English gentlemen, is it not?"

      "I should imagine so. Then I am considered – you must pardon my boasting – one of the best billiard players in London."

      "That is not much of a boast," she remarked, with such quiet contempt that the captain could only look at her in sheer wonder.

      "There are balls, operas, parties, suppers – I cannot tell what; and the ladies engross a great deal of our time. We soldiers never forget our devotion and chivalry to the fair sex, Miss Darrell."

      "The fair sex should be grateful that they share your attention with horses and billiards," she returned. "But what else do you do, Captain Langton? I was not thinking of such trifles as these."

      "Trifles!" he repeated. "I do not call horse racing a trifle. I was within an inch of winning the Derby – I mean to say a horse of mine was. If you call that a trifle, Miss Darrell, you go near to upsetting English society altogether."

      "But what great things do you do?" she repeated, her dark eyes opening wider. "You cannot mean seriously that this is all. Do you never write, paint – have you no ambition at all?"

      "I do not know what you call ambition," he replied, sullenly; "as for writing and painting, in England we pay people to do that kind of thing for us. You do not think that I would paint a picture, even if I could?"

      "I should think you clever if you did that," she returned; "at present I cannot see that you do anything requiring mind or intellect."

      "Miss Darrell," he said, looking at her, "you are a radical, I believe."

      "A radical?" she repeated, slowly. "I am not quite sure, Captain Langton, that I know what that means."

      "You believe in aristocracy of intellect, and all that kind of nonsense," he continued. "Why should a man who paints a picture be any better than the man who understands the good points of a horse?"

      "Why, indeed?" she asked, satirically. "We will not argue the question, for we should not agree."

      "I had her there," thought the captain. "She could not answer me. Some of these women require a high hand to keep them in order."

      "I do not see Miss Hastings," she said at last, "and it is quite useless going to the aviary without her. I do not remember the name of a single bird; and I am sure you will not care for them."

      "But,"

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