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 from all angles she looked at her reflection in the glass. The large hat she had designed and trimmed herself from a picture in the Young Ladies' Gazette, set well back on her head. Hart could hear her words, "Don't you think it's dashing, Newt?" He closed his eyes; why should such a sneaking, mean little detail as the patch of powder smudged on her nose intrude itself on him, he could not tell—it was rather unfair.

Yet this was the girl he expected to marry—that he was in duty bound to marry—she loved him, of course she did; had he not kissed her and was she not jealous when he danced with other girls at the festivals? He had cared for her more than he had cared for any other girl—until the vision of some one very different had come to drive everything else out of his mind. Again he began to blame himself, as if this were some fault of his own. He struck his knees a blow with his closed fist and pulled his hat further down over his eyes.

"Hullo, old man, you look a prey to remorse. Come, smoke up and be joyful."

Newton looked quickly round as he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. It was Betts who