LITMIR.BIZ

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morning he signalled across: "Letter from Connie. Message for you. I mean to deliver it personally. Do you ever go to church?"

      Now, I do go regularly to church at home. But Aunt Martha and Mrs. Saxby are both such rigid church people that they would not darken the doors of the Methodist church at Plover Sands for any consideration. Needless to say, I am not allowed to go either. But it was impossible to make this long explanation, so I merely replied: "Not here."

      "Will you not go tomorrow morning?"

      "Aunt will not let me."

      "Coax her."

      "Coaxing never has any effect on her."

      "Would she relent if Mrs. Allardyce were to call for you?"

      Now, I have been cautiously sounding Aunt about Mrs. Allardyce, and I have discovered that she disapproves of her. So I said: "It would be useless. I will ask Aunt if I may go, but I feel almost sure that she will not consent."

      This evening, when Aunt was in an unusually genial mood, I plucked up heart of grace and asked her.

      "Marguerite," she said impressively, "you know that I do not attend church here."

      "But, Aunt," I persisted, quakingly, "couldn't I go alone? It is not very far—and I will be very careful."

      Aunt merely gave me a look that said about forty distinct and separate things, and I was turning away in despair when Mrs. Saxby—bless her heart—said: "I really think it would be no harm to let the child go."

      As Aunt attaches great importance to Mrs. Saxby's opinion, she looked at me relentingly and said: "Well, I will think it over and let you know in the morning, Marguerite."

      Now, everything depends on the sort of humour Aunt is in in the morning.

      July Twentieth.

      This morning was perfect, and after breakfast Aunt said, condescendingly: "I think you may attend church if you wish, Marguerite. Remember that I expect you to conduct yourself with becoming prudence and modesty."

      I flew upstairs and pulled my prettiest dress out of my trunk. It is a delicate, shimmering grey stuff with pearly tints about it. Every time I get anything new, Aunt Martha and I have a battle royal over it. I verily believe that Aunt would like me to dress in the fashions in vogue in her youth. There is always a certain flavour of old-fashionedness about my gowns and hats. Connie used to say that it was delicious and gave me a piquant uniqueness—a certain unlikeness to other people that possessed a positive charm. That is only Connie's view of it, however.

      But I had had my own way about this dress and it is really very becoming. I wore a little silvery-grey chip hat, trimmed with pale pink flowers, and I pinned at my belt the sweetest cluster of old-fashioned blush rosebuds from the garden. Then I borrowed a hymn book from Mrs. Blake and ran down to undergo Aunt Martha's scrutiny.

      "Dear me, child," she said discontentedly, "you have gotten yourself up very frivolously, it seems to me."

      "Why, Aunty," I protested, "I'm all in grey—every bit."

      Aunt Martha sniffed. You don't know how much Aunt can express in a sniff. But I tripped to church like a bird.

      The first person I saw there was Mr. Shelmardine. He was sitting right across from me and a smile glimmered in his eyes. I did not look at him again. Through the service I was subdued enough to have satisfied even Aunt Martha.

      When church came out, he waited for me at the entrance to his pew. I pretended not to see him until he said "Good morning," in a voice vibrating and deep, which sounded as though it might become infinitely tender if its owner chose. When we went down the steps he took my hymnal, and we walked up the long, bowery country road.

      "Thank you so much for coming today," he said—as if I went to oblige him.

      "I had a hard time to get Aunt Martha's consent," I declared frankly. "I wouldn't have succeeded if Mrs. Saxby hadn't taken my part."

      "Heaven bless Mrs. Saxby," he remarked fervently. "But is there any known way of overcoming your aunt's scruples? If so, I am ready to risk it."

      "There is none. Aunt Martha is very good and kind to me, but she will never stop trying to bring me up. The process will be going on when I am fifty. And she hates men! I don't know what she would do if she saw me now."

      Mr. Shelmardine frowned and switched the unoffending daisies viciously with his cane.

      "Then there is no hope of my seeing you openly and above-board?"

      "Not at present," I said faintly.

      After a brief silence we began to talk of other things. He told me how he happened to see me first.

      "I was curious to know who the people were who were always in the same place at the same time, so one day I took my telescope. I could see you plainly. You were reading and had your hat off. When I went back to the hotel I asked Mrs. Allardyce if she knew who the boarders at Fir Cottage were and she told me. I had heard Connie speak of you, and I determined to make your acquaintance."

      When we reached the lane I held out my hand for the hymnal.

      "You mustn't come any further, Mr. Shelmardine," I said hurriedly. "Aunt—Aunt might see you."

      He took my hand and held it, looking at me seriously.

      "Suppose I were to walk up to the cottage tomorrow and ask for you?"

      I gasped. He looked so capable of doing anything he took it into his head to do.

      "Oh, you wouldn't," I said piteously. "Aunt Martha would—you are not in earnest."

      "I suppose not," he said regretfully. "Of course I would not do anything that would cause you unpleasantness. But this must not—shall not be our last meeting."

      "Aunt will not let me come to church again," I said.

      "Does she ever take a nap in the afternoon?" he queried.

      I wriggled my parasol about in the dust uneasily.

      "Sometimes."

      "I shall be at the old boat tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty," he said.

      I pulled my hand away.

      "I couldn't—you know I couldn't," I cried—and then I blushed to my ears.

      "Are you sure you couldn't?" bending a little nearer.

      "Quite sure," I murmured.

      He surrendered my hymnal at last.

      "Will you give me a rose?"

      I unpinned the whole cluster and handed it to him. He lifted it until it touched his lips. As for me, I scuttled up the lane in the most undignified fashion. At the turn I looked back. He was still standing there with his hat off.

      July Twenty-fourth.

      On Monday afternoon I slipped away to the shore while Aunt Martha and Mrs. Saxby were taking their regular nap and I was supposed to be reading sermons in my room.

      Mr. Shelmardine was leaning against the old boat, but he came swiftly across the sand to meet me.

      "This is very kind of you," he said.

      "I ought not to have come," I said repentantly. "But it is so lonely there—and one can't be interested in sermons and memoirs all the time."

      Mr. Shelmardine laughed.

      "Mr. and Mrs. Allardyce are on the other side of the boat. Will you come and meet them?"

      How nice of him to bring them! I knew I should like Mrs. Allardyce, just because Aunt Martha didn't. We had a delightful stroll. I never thought of the time until Mr. Shelmardine said it was four o'clock.

      "Oh, is it so late as that?" I cried. "I must go at once."

      "I'm

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