LITMIR.BIZ

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the unshed tears.

      "How—why should you know? Yes, I was quite alone in the world. My father died a year ago."

      "Forgive me," he murmured; and he laid his hand with a feather's weight on her arm. "I implore you to forgive me. It was cruel and thoughtless."

      "No," said Stella. "How should you know?"

      "If I had been anything better than an unthinking brute, I might have guessed."

      There was a moment's pause, then Stella spoke.

      "Yes, it is Paradise. I had no idea England was like this, they called it the land of fogs."

      "You have not seen London on a November evening," he said, with a laugh. "Most foreigners come over to England and put up at some hotel at the west-end, and judge the whole land by the London sample—very few come even so far as this. You have not been to London?"

      "I passed through it," said Stella, "that is all. But I heard a great deal about it last night," she added, with a smile.

      "Yes!" he said, with great interest—"last night?"

      "Yes, at Mrs. Hamilton's. She was kind enough to ask me to an evening party, and one of the guests took great pains to impress me with the importance and magnificence of London."

      He looked at her.

      "May I ask who she was?" he said.

      "It was not a she, but a gentleman. It was Mr. Adelstone."

      Lord Leycester thought a moment.

      "Adelstone. Adelstone. I don't know him."

      Before she was quite aware of it the retort slipped from her lips.

      "He knows you."

      He looked at her with a thoughtful smile.

      "Does he? I don't remember him. Stay, yes, isn't he a relation of Mr. Fielding's?"

      "His nephew," said Stella, and feeling the dark, penetrating eyes on her she blushed faintly. It annoyed her, and she struggled to suppress it, but the blush came and he saw it.

      "I remember him now," he said; "a tall, thin dark man. A lawyer, I believe. Yes, I remember him. And he told you about London?"

      "Yes," said Stella, and as she remembered the conversation of a few hours ago, her color deepened. "He is very amusing and well-informed, and he took pity on my ignorance in the kindest way. I was very grateful."

      There was something in her tone that made him look at her questioningly.

      "I think," he said, "your gratitude is easily earned."

      "Oh, no," she retorted; "I am the most ungrateful of beings. Isn't that uncle sitting there?" she added, quickly, to change the subject.

      He looked up.

      "Yes, he is hard at work. I did not think I should have won him. It was my sister's name that worked the magic charm."

      "He is fond of your sister," said Stella, thoughtfully.

      His eyes were on her in an instant.

      "He has spoken of her?" he said.

      Stella could have bitten her tongue out for the slip.

      "Yes," she said. "He—he told me about her—I asked him whose house it was upon the hills."

      "Meaning the Hall?" he said, pointing with his whip.

      "Yes, and he told me. I knew by the way he spoke of your sister that he was fond of her. Her name is Lilian, is it not?"

      "Yes," he said, "Lilian," and the name left his lips with soft tenderness. "I think every one who knows her loves her. This picture is for her."

      Stella glanced up at his face; anything less imperious at that moment it would be impossible to imagine.

      "Lady Lilian is fond of pictures?" she said.

      "Yes," he said; "she is devoted to art in all its forms. Yes, that little sketch will give her more pleasure than—than—I scarcely know what to say. What are women most fond of?"

      Stella laughed.

      "Diamonds, are they not?"

      "Are you fond of them?" he said. "I think not."

      "Why not?" she retorted. "Why should I not have the attributes of my sex? Yes, I am fond of diamonds. I am fond of everything that is beautiful and costly and rare. I remember once going to a ball at Florence."

      He looked at her.

      "Only to see it!" she exclaimed. "I was too young to be seen, and they took me in a gallery overlooking the great salon; and I watched the great ladies in their beautiful dresses and shining gems, and I thought that I would give all the world to be like one of them; and the thought spoiled my enjoyment. I remember coming away crying; you see it was so dark and solitary in the great gallery, and I felt so mean and insignificant." And she laughed.

      He was listening with earnest interest. Every word she said had a charm for him; he had never met any girl—any woman—like her, so frank and open-minded. Listening to her was like looking into a crystal lake, in which everything is revealed and all is bright and pure.

      "And are you wiser now?" he asked.

      "Not one whit!" she replied. "I should like now, less than then, to be shut up in a dark gallery and look on at others enjoying themselves. Isn't that a confession of an envious and altogether wicked disposition?"

      "Yes," he assented, with a strange smile barely escaping from under his tawny mustache. "I should be right in prophesying all sorts of bad endings to you."

      As he spoke he opened the gate for her, driving the dogs back with a crack of his whip so that she might pass first—a small thing, but characteristic of him.

      The painter looked up.

      "Keep those dogs off my back, Leycester," he said. "Well, Stella, have you concocted your poison?"

      Stella went and looked over his shoulder.

      "Yes, uncle," she said.

      "You have been long enough to make twenty indigestible compounds," he said, gazing at the view he was sketching.

      Stella bent her head, to hide the blush which rose as she remembered how slowly they had walked across the meadows.

      "How are you getting on?" said Lord Leycester.

      The old man grunted.

      "Pretty well; better than I shall now you have come to fidget about."

      Lord Leycester laughed.

      "A pretty plain hint that our room is desired more than our company, Miss Etheridge. Can we not vanish into space?"

      Stella laughed and sank down on the grass.

      "It is uncle's way of begging us to stay," she said.

      Lord Leycester laughed, and sending the dogs off, flung himself down almost at her feet.

      "Did I exaggerate?" he said, pointing his whip at the view.

      "Not an atom," replied Stella. "It is beautiful—beautiful, and that is all that one can find to say."

      "I wish you would be content to say it and not insist upon my painting it," replied Mr. Etheridge.

      Lord Leycester sprang to his feet.

      "That is the last straw. We will not remain to be abused, Miss Etheridge," he said.

      Stella remained immovable. He came and stood over her, looking down at her with wistful eagerness in silence.

      "What lovely woods," she said. "You were right; they are carpeted with primroses. We have none in our meadow."

      "Would you like

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